Trapped in the Past
by I Need A Creative Penname
Summary: Finished! Dark account of Rose's experience following Titanic. Can she realize what she is doing to herself and come to accept Jack's death before it's too late? Please read and review!
1. Prologue

_Arg…. a new story! Yey. I have been thinking about doing this one for years now, and I am finally getting my ass around to doing it. It's also my first story where Jack isn't alive. Sigh. Anyway, enjoy. And as always, review! _

Disclaimer: Yeah yeah, I don't own anything of James Cameron's, I don't claim to, and I am definitely not making money off of this bloody thing.

_On with the show…_

Trapped in the Past 

Prologue 

There are times in our lives that when we look back years later, we want so badly to forget. For me, there were about 6 months after the sinking that I wish now I could erase from my mind. It was such a dark period in my life; I was such a mess. Nevertheless, it was important in who I became and was part of my healing. I had done well to try and forget those times, involving myself in other things- my children, my work, writing, acting, being a loving wife. However, when Aunt Katherine died unexpectedly this winter, I was forced to return to that house in Chicago where I had spent so many tremulous days and nights. Simply seeing the old place brought back so many things that I had worked hard to forget. 

Until then the only think I still thought of was the cold, and that was only because I still suffered from unexplainable chills once in a while. But that first year was so cold. Even in the dead of July I would crawl into bed with blankets piled around me and a heavy nightgown on. I hardly ever went anywhere without a coat and always wore sox's. All these things combined to make a small comfort zone for me, although they didn't help me much in the end. 

So many things had gone horrible wrong. If I had just realized right of the bat what I was doing to myself, I probably would have been okay. However, I tried to block everything out of my mind. I tried to shut life out; you can't do that. 

Now I sat in the middle of Katherine's kitchen, listing to the clock in the hallway strike midnight. A thousand different memories ran through my head. Everywhere I turned, I remembered something else that had happened there, or remembered something else I had gone through. I closed my eyes and sighed. There was so much more then anyone knew. For the first time, I began to replay the entire experience in my head, watching it go by like a movie. I had survived the heartache and the breakdown, but I would never be the same again.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One 

I didn't quite remember getting off the train and walking down the confusing streets, looking for the familiar house. I must have been a sight to see with my "borrowed" clothes, messy hair, unmade up face, and three bags. In my defense, one of the bags was in fact a purse- a very large overstuffed purse, but still a purse. I still wore that big black coat Cal had put on me, not because it was his, but because Jack had simply touched it and been near it. I would wear the dress too, but it smelled pretty bad and was in bad shape. The last thing I needed was for someone to mistake me for a whore. But in these clothes I was numb to the world and didn't notice the people staring at me, or the fingers pointed my way.

Now I stood across the street from my Aunt Katherine's house, staring at it with an unmoving expression. I wanted so badly to run inside and throw my arms around her, but I was pretty sure that wasn't the right thing to do. In any case, she probably thought I was six feet under. Oh, this was going to be interesting all right.

Perhaps I should back up and explain to the reader just what I am doing here and who my Aunt Katherine is. The response to the first is not a short one, nor one to be ignored. After arriving in New York, I didn't know what to do and had dinked around for a couple of weeks, sleeping wherever anyone would take me- or sometimes simply on a park bench. Then, too, I must have been a sight for sore eyes; I didn't shower or bathe for a week, I kept my sinking clothes on, and I hardly ate. I was a mess. Not to mention I couldn't think straight all the time, thought only of Jack when I did, and could hardly sleep for more then two hours a night. I was offered a boarding room a couple of times, but I declined, saying I had other plans. But I had no other plans. After a fortnight of this listless existence, I finally decided that enough was enough. The only person I could think that would take me in- or much less understand me at all- was my Aunt Katherine.

Katherine had always been an enigma to me- a wonderful, free enigma that I placed on a high pedestal. She was my father's youngest sister. There were six DeWitt Bukator children born to my grandparents; my father was the first. After he came two girls, two boys, and then Katherine. And by the time she came along, my father was already seventeen. He married my mother at twenty-six and was just about twenty-eight when they had me. Katherine was the closest in age to me of any of my relatives, though she was eleven years my senior, and we always kind of looked out for each other. Well, she more then I. We were alike in the sense that we both headstrong and had ideas of our own. Katherine used to tell me these things when I was just five or six, and I liked to think it was because she trusted me. It was all very well until Katherine turned eighteen and announced she wanted go to college. This was absolutely unheard-of in my family at the time and my grandfather had a fit. He told her that she was to get married and have children, that her job was no more. But Katherine had different plans. She told him she wanted to be a nurse and didn't want to get married just yet. My grandfather became so angry when she would not leave him alone that he finally provided her with an ultimatum- she would either do as he wished or she would be disowned. Katherine chose disownment. 

I had never been more proud of my Aunt, though I was not allowed to say so. I was to be cold toward her, I was told, and with that the visits to see Aunt Katherine soon ceased. It was more my mothers doing then my fathers. He loved his little sister, and probably would have kept contact with her if it had not been for his wife, who told him that Katherine would be a bad influence. And besides all that, Daddy was head of the business now since grandfather had retired and must show his father that he believed the same, if he wished to keep his position. 

So for eight years I hardly knew of my Aunt, only heard of her once and a while. She not only became a nurse, she went ahead and was one of the first women doctors in Illinois. Other then one time when I was ten, it was not until my father's funeral when I was fifteen that I saw her again. She arrived discreetly and hid in the back, but afterward she pulled me aside quickly, slipping a letter in my hands before disappearing again. Once home that night, I read the letter over and over. It was quick and to the point- if I ever needed anything I was to contact her and she would help, that was a promise. At the bottom she left her address in Chicago.  

All those nights in Philadelphia after learning of my father's debts and our money problems and knowing that before long mother would try to marry me off, I often wondered if I should write her. I wanted so badly to leave like she did. But it was different with my mother and I. I was her only child. Katherine had been the youngest of six. Without her, the family still survived. Without me, no such thing would happen. I was stuck. 

It was in New York that I remembered her promise and got on that train. I had long sense memorized the address and quickly found my way to her house. Now here I was. 

She thinks you're dead, a loud voice in my head kept going saying over and over. And if she finds out, who knows if the rest of them will or not.  But I had to remind myself that this was not the rest of my family, this was Katherine. She and I were cut from the same cloth, we had both been ostracized by our families, well, one of us surly would have been if she were still "alive." I decided I could trust her. 

Taking a deep breath, I walked across the street and marched right up her front steps. I finally stopped before her front door, set my bags down, and with a trembling fist, knocked. It took a minute for Katherine to answer, but when she opened that door and looked at me, her face went white and she stared as if she were seeing a ghost.

_She is, you idiot_, I reminded myself. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there, waiting for her to do something, anything! Finally, after a minute I mumbled a soft hello.

"Oh my God!" Katherine exclaimed, as if my greeting had brought her back to reality. She placed a hand over her heart. "Is that really you Rose?" she asked in breathless wonder.

I nodded. It _was_ I. Not some stupid sheep that followed whatever society demanded she do. Not that DeWitt Bukator girl who was suppose to marry Caledon Hockely. It was the real me.  Me. Rose Dawson. No one else. 

Katherine's blue eyes got really big now, but some color came back to her face. "They told me you were dead," she stammered. "I got a telegram from your mother. She said you had died…. on the Titanic…something about giving up your seat for her."

I raised my eyebrows. Was that what she told everyone? I hadn't read any of the papers, I didn't really want to for reason that something like this would be pulled. It disgusted me to think that it actually had been said. First of all, I wouldn't give up my seat for her and second of all, it was wrong that they tried to cover up the real account with bullshit like that. 

"There's more to the story," I explained to my Aunt. There was so much more. 

Katherine looked surprised, but she kind of smiled. "Huh, I guess so." She paused and looked me over, her hands on her hips. "You don't look so well," she commented. 

Gee, really?

Before I could answer though, she had moved aside and motioned for me to come inside. "C'mon, lets get you some clean clothes and then we can talk."

That's one of the reasons I loved my Aunt; no questions, just care. She looked the same as she had a few years ago; short physique, auburn hair with the classic DeWitt Bukator-blue eyes. Same old Katherine. I followed her inside with my bags and stood looking around the hallway as she closed the door. I had only been here once, when I was ten and we were in Chicago. My father and snuck me here for a couple of hours. I'd thought her house was a magic place then, a haven for those who wanted out of their gilded society restraints. It still seemed a bit this way to me, even now. 

She led me upstairs and down the hallway. There were three bedrooms: hers and two guests, and a bathroom. I often wondered why she had so many rooms when it was juts her, but when I asked my mother I was told to shush and not to talk of such things. I was ten; I didn't know what such things were. 

We stopped in front of a closed door and Katherine pushed it open. I immediately recognized my surroundings. This had been my favorite room when she had given us the tour so many years ago. The paint was a soft peach color, as were the drapes that covered the two big windows. There was a big, cheery-wood dresser with a huge mirror attached, desk made of the same material, and best of all, a huge four-post bed. I remembered lying down on it before and how comfortable it had been. The same comforter still graced the tops of the cotton sheets. It was a softer peach then the walls, but around the edge was about a foot and a half of embroidered silk that fell to the floor. The whole bed was complete with a down comforter under the peach one and about a dozen pillows. 

"I've started calling this the Rose Room," Katherine remarked, bringing me back to the present.

I turned and looked at her, realizing this was because of me. I had spent half the visit in here and the other half thinking about it. I was flattered and told her so.

Katherine laughed softy and then motioned to the dresser. "There are some older clothes of mine in there that you can put on. The bathrooms across the hall," she reminded me. With a smile, she told me she would be downstairs and then left, closing the door as she did. 

I dropped my bags on the floor and looked around. I wanted desperately to flop down on the bed and just lay there, but I didn't think Katherine would appreciate me doing so in this coat or my dirty clothes. So instead I walked over to the dresser and started pulling drawers open. I was now taller then Katherine, so most of the things looked like they would be too small. But I finally found a white shirt and a khaki coloured skirt that looked like they might fit.  I undressed, throwing my clothes in a heap on the floor, and then stood in front of the mirror, really looking at myself. I had gotten thin, my hair was a joke, my breasts sagged down, and there was still a considerably large purplish bruise on the left side of my body where I had hit that gate. I was disgusted with myself and quickly put some clothes back on. 

After a few minutes, I cautiously opened the door and peeked out the hall. I wasn't sure what to do with my clothes, so I just left them and started downstairs. It was odd behind out of my same old things, almost as if I were naked without them. I nearly went back to get the coat, but the told myself it was better if I don't and continued on. My bare feet made no sound on the wood floor and I was able to get to the livingroom without causing too much noise. 

Katherine was sitting on a couch, holding a cup of coffee. She handed it to me when I came in and then picked a mug up off of the coffee table for herself. I sat down across from her in a chair and sipped my coffee. It tasted really good.  Katherine didn't say anything, just stared at me and I eventually realized I should probably talk. 

I set my cup down and sat back in the chair. "You know we were crossing on the Titanic," I stated. Of course she did. She nodded and I continued. Without realizing what I was doing, I told her the entire story. About Jack, Cal, everything. I kept watching her reactions. She looked concerned when I told her about trying to jump, but laughed when I told her about spitting in Cal's face. And when I told her about Jack dying, tears welled up in her eyes. I was afraid she was going to cry so I finished the story quickly and just sat there. I wished I could cry. But I couldn't. 

Katherine kept her composure however and kept telling me how brave I was. Brave? I hardly thought that was the word for it. Starved, heartbroken, dizzy, confused, hurt, lost…. those would all work. But not brave. Brave was for people who fought dragons and who went to war. Anyone would have done what I did if they were in the position. But I kept my opinions to myself and let Katherine begin to fuss over me. First she started to ask me all these insipid questions that I answered numbly. Then she tired to get me to eat, but I wasn't hungry. It all passed in a blur and the next thing I remember clearly is lying in the big peach bed, staring up at the ceiling and listing to the sounds of the city. 

What would happen to me now? I wondered, my mind to occupied to sleep. I didn't know what to do with myself. All I knew is that I better get over whatever the hell was wrong with me…and fast. And the best way I knew how to do that was to try to forget about it. As far as I was considered, it never happened. 

I tried to sleep after that, but every time I closed my eyes, I felt an overwhelming sense of dizziness come over me and I saw thrashing water. So I just laid there and counted the little bumps on the ceiling. This too, however, made me dizzy and I soon abandoned the task and simply stared.

"Come Josephine, in my flying machine," I sang softly to myself. The silence was really getting to me. "Up she goes….up she goes…" God, my voice didn't even sound like my own. It was distant, aloof. 

After about another hour, I rose from the bed and crept across the room, putting my hand on the cool doorknob and slowly opening the door. My clothes were still sitting on a heap on the floor, so I tip toed out there and began to search through them. I found the coat quickly and was about to go back, when I saw the dress. On impulse, I grabbed that too and then hurried back to my room. Once inside, I wrapped the coat around myself and wrapped my dress around my freezing cold feet. Digging into the pockets, I retrieved the Heart of the Ocean and the several wads of cash. Franticly, I looked around and finally decided to stash them in the very back of the top right dresser drawer. 

Then I climbed back into bed and snuggled under the sheets, unable to get warm. But the coat helped. I felt a little bit better this way. Slowly, I drifted off into sleep, more dead to the world then I was conscience, but not by much. 


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two I laid around for exactly three days, getting up only to use the bathroom. I never changed, didn't eat, and never once did anything but just stare at things around the room. I began to get sick of the painting on the wall, the one of the damn flowers. It was too bloody cheery; made me want to throw up. There was also a rather crude sketch drawing of a young couple with some ducks. That one just hurt; I hardly looked at it. 

On the fourth morning, Katherine came in at about nine, her hands on her hips and a worried look on her face. She stood over my bed and looked at me. I had hardly seen her since that first night, she was never around when I went to the bathroom and had the sagacity not to disturb me, until now. 

"Rose Margaret Ann DeWitt Bukator Dawson, get your ass out of bed this minute," she exclaimed, her voice surprisingly discordant. 

Jesus my name was long. "Don't call me DeWitt Bukator," I apathetically replied out of force of habit. I wasn't in the mood for a lecture or to be middle-named.  

Katherine sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Fine," she promised, "but please get up." 

No, I wanted to shout, go away! Leave me the bloody well alone. But instead I just pulled the comforter up over my head and kept it there. I knew I was being a pain in the ass, but at the moment I couldn't have cared less. 

My aunt patted me on the back a few times and then softy started rubbing it in soft circles. "Darling, I took the day off work; we can go do something." When I didn't answer or remove the blanket, she sighed again. "I know this is hard Rose, but you have to keep yourself busy, that's the only way to start to get over what happened."

I sat up quickly, startling her. "I have gotten over it. I've forgotten about it," I replied placidly, looking her straight in the eye. We both knew I was lying, but if I said it enough, maybe it would come true. 

Katherine raised her eyebrows and I could almost see the little wheels turning in her head.  "I doubt that very much," was the only thing she said though. Then her lips curved into a smile and she cocked her head. "Lets get you out of bed and then get some food into you; you must be famished. And then later we can get you some proper clothes that fit." 

I groaned and closed my eyes. Shopping! That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I had learned, quite understandably, to hate shopping a few years ago. It meant hours and hours of boring clothes, old ladies with pins fussing over me, and people (and by people I mean by mother) saying things like, "Rose, darling, you ought to lose some weight." Are you happy now mother! I felt like screaming into oblivion. I lost some weight!

With great difficulty, I pulled back the covers and swung my feet to the floor. Katherine looked rather pleased when I stood up and she gave me a sort of a smug smile. "Shopping?" I asked her with some disgust.

Katherine, to my surprise, started laughing. "Yes, you look ridiculous in my clothes, they are to small for you, and your other things are trashed. And this," she said tugging on the sleeve of my coat, which I was still wearing, "has to go."

I immediately wrapped my arms around myself and looked at Katherine with dark eyes. "No!" I shouted like a child who has been told he must do something. My eyelids narrowed and I saw a look of shock pass across her face. There was not a snowball's chance in hell that she was taking this coat away from me. It was the only tangible thing I had left, besides the necklace and the dress. However, God knew that necklace was not to be worn as a simple trinket and that dress was horrid looking. 

"All right," she agreed timidly. "It doesn't have to go. But you do need to take it off for a while."

That I could live with and I let her help me take it off and then I watched carefully as she hung it on the bedpost for the time being. With a soft smile, Katherine finally left and I was once again alone. I supposed I ought to bathe, but on second thought the task seemed to daunting. So I got out of my, or rather Katherine's, nightgown and powdered my body with some fragrant powder she had lying around. Then I searched through her drawers, found a skirt and a blouse and put them on my body. I had no other shoes except for some house slippers, so I just put those back on and then started out of the room.

The hall seemed bright compared to the dimness of my bedroom as I trudged downstairs. I didn't like it and shielded it eyes from the glare as I entered the kitchen. Katherine was leaning over the stove and I gave her a soft greeting as I sat down at the table. 

"You look better," was her comment as she turned around to look me over. "What would you like to eat? I can make you eggs or sausage. Or maybe some pancakes."

Oh Lord, they all made my stomach do somersaults and I felt like I was going to be sick again. You would think that I would have been starving, but the strange part was that I hardly even noticed hunger anymore. "I'll just have toast," I answered softly. "And maybe some coffee." I had hardly slept more then three hours a night since I had gotten here; I needed some caffeine in the worst way. 

Katherine gave me a concerned look and shook her head. "Rose, you already look like you are sick. Please eat something, I promise you will feel and look a little bit better."

Why did my Aunt have to be a doctor? I shook my head at her and finally she sighed and agreed to make my meal. It was a good thing she knew how to make it too. I didn't even know how to work a stove, or how on earth to boil water. I mean, I know that I had to be a certain temperature. But what happened when I got there, how did you know? I sighed outloud. I really was hopeless. 

Once I ate and Katherine was convinced I really didn't want anything else, she dragged me out of the house. It was odd being with the three-dimensional people again, instead of those in a painting on my room wall. I was convinced everyone I saw would recognize me as who I really was and expose me to everyone. I knew they must all know what I did with Jack, that I was no longer a good little girl.  But they just passed by with hardly a glance and left me alone. I began to relax a little bit, but was still wiry that when I turned the corner I might run into someone in my family. Katherine started complaining of the heat as we got downtown and I gave her an incredulous look. Was it not cold? I grabbed her hand in my own and it shocked her as much as it did me.

Katherine's hand was as warm as the gates of hell itself, and mine…mine was colder then ice.

I dropped her hand immediately and looked straight ahead, afraid to meet her eyes, all the while quelling the feeling that began to rise inside of me. 

****************

Shopping went all right. I had dropped two dress sizes, which was a bit of a shock. However, I had to admit it was nice to get some fresh clothes that actually fit. I insisted on paying Katherine back for some of it, but she cast my offer off and told me that it should be considered a gift. I still had all that money from Cal and was at a loss as to what to do with it. I had used a little to support myself before I arrived at Katherine's. But now I hadn't the need for it. Besides, I was determined to get by without his help, the bastard. 

Once we were finished and we had left the last of many stores, the next quest being to find a place to eat. I had developed more of an appetite and was feeling a little bit better as I carried my many bags and stuck close to my aunt. She was talking a mile a minute about how nice it was to have me here and about how happy she was that I really hadn't died. I hardly heard much of it though; I was preoccupied by making sure she was always next to me and that I didn't see anyone I knew. When she paused I took it as my clue to nod or mumble a sort of an agreement, upon which she started talking again. 

The system of stimulus and response went well for about ten minutes until, while walking by a newspaper kiosk and my body froze. I stared with wide eyes at the newspaper headline as the rest of the world faded away. "**Ten More Bodies Recovered Today From the Atlantic Due to Titanic Tragedy."** It was the first paper I'd seen, first news of the disaster that I'd heard, and my eyes were glued to it. They were recovering bodies? I was filled with an overwhelming sense to either buy the paper or burn the whole kiosk down.  They were recovering bodies; my heart beat in unison with the words. 

"Katherine…?" I turned around in a circle, wanting to ask her if it were true, but I suddenly realized I was alone. I immediately froze and my body began to shake. She was gone. I didn't know the way back to her house, had no money, and she was gone. She left me. Oh my god! Slowly I sank back against the building behind me, my eyes staring out at the busy street but seeing nothing. My heart began to race and felt like it would come out of my chest. I couldn't breathe. Oh my God. She left me like Jack did. She disappeared. They both left me. I'm all alone. I closed my eyes and felt my pulse beating out of control. My whole body was shaking by now and I kept taking big gasping breaths as I held my hand over my heart. I was vaguely aware of how people must be pointing at me and staring, but I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about what the fact that they weren't here. Who would help me? They were both gone! I was alone. I couldn't take care of myself. Somebody was going to come along and rape me and then leave me and then…

"Rose? Rose…Rose!" 

Slowly, I realized it was Katherine's voice and opened my eyes, my heart still beating wildly. When my eyes focused on her, I saw a bewildered and concerned look on her face. She took one look at me, dropped her bags, and grabbed my wrist, upon which she proceeded to take my pulse. The next thing I knew she was hurriedly hailing a taxi and I was being sat down in the back seat of a car amongst shopping bags. 

We started moving and that started a whole new rush of feelings. Jack…Jack had been in a backseat with me. But this was different. His arms were not there; his warm body was no longer on top of me. We were moving! This was too fast; we were going to crash. It was to enclosed, too much like being trapped against that gate. I gripped the sides of the seat with iron hands and closed my eyes. I was so dizzy; my heart wouldn't calm down. My aunt was holding my wrist again and kept shaking her head. I was going to die, I realized, this was it! Jack here I come…

And then everything went black. 

When I woke up I was in my own bed. I couldn't remember how I had gotten here. The last thing I remembered clearly was walking next to my Aunt downtown. What were we doing home? I opened my eyes, looked around, and saw Katherine sitting next to me on a chair. She had tear tracks on her face and her eyes were puffy. I looked at her and it all came back to me again. How long had I passed out?

"What happened to me?" I asked breathlessly, my voice hardly above a whisper. 

Katherine took my hand and held it. "You had a panic attack," she explained gently. "You passed out, which was probably a good thing because your pulse was getting dangerously high."

I searched her eyes. A panic attack? "What…. what is that exactly? I mean, why did it happen?"

My aunt sighed and shook her head. "It's when your body gets…overworked, for lack of a better term. You have all the symptoms that you just went though, lots of discomfort. I think the newspaper might have started it and then when you couldn't find me, it escalated. I knew I shouldn't have put you in a car, but there was no other way." She looked at me with a very concerned glance. 

"Are they normal?" The last thing I needed was a bunch of medical problems.  I had heard of panic attacks only a few times before, but no one I was around ever really discussed them. They were one of those taboo subjects that were to be left alone. 

"Relatively, after a big disaster like this. However, yours was a serious one Rose. I'm worried you might have more." Her voice had that doctor tone to it, the one that I hated. 

I knew what she was getting at however, when she said I might have more. I stared at her with an unwavering expression. 

"There are some wonderful medications out there now, Rose…"

"No," I said shaking my head and holding up my free hand. "Katherine, no."

"But Rose, darling, they might help," she protested, standing up and dropping my hand. With worried steps, she paced the floor next to my bed and chewed her fingernails. 

"I'm fine Katherine, really," I answered.  "I'm putting it behind me." Funny, it reminded me of another time I had said that. I quickly put that out of my mind and turned my full attention back to my aunt. _Don't do this again Rose._

Katherine stopped pacing and stared at me for a long time. It made me nervous and I began to feel sick. Why was she looking at me like that? Sighing, she folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. 

"It's your life," she whispered and with that turned and left my room, leaving me along once again.

I sank down underneath the covers. I was so cold; my feet like ice and my hands no better. Why on earth couldn't I get warm? I used to have a problem with always being overheated, and now I would have given almost anything to feel warmth again. Sighing heavily, I stared with wide eyes at the coat hanging in front of me. I wanted to badly to run over and grab it, but restrained myself. The power it had over me was freighting. The only time I slept was when it was wrapped around my body, and even then my dreams were plagued with hunting images and sounds. 

I laid there a long time, alone with my thoughts, until Katherine came in with a bowl of soup. I wasn't hungry, but ate some just to make her happy. It was good, I had to admit, but it just wasn't what I needed. I didn't know what I needed anymore. But it wasn't food. There was something wrong with me, I could sense it. However, I chose to believe that it was due to my panic attack and ignored it. _Tomorrow would be different_, I thought as my bowl was being taken away. Tomorrow would be better

**Please let me know what you think….review!**


	4. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

Unfortunately, tomorrow was no different. I awoke with a dreadful headache and in a horrible mood. I hadn't slept until about one and had woken up at five when Katherine got up to go out on a call. A patient of hers went into labor, she explained from my doorway, and she had to leave, probably for the whole day. Then she asked if I would be all right. I nodded yes and she left.

I wasn't all right. As I got up to go take a bath, I felt dizzy and almost fell over. Stumbling, I managed to make it into the bathroom and shut the door. My reflection in the mirror frightened even myself. My round face had collapsed into a narrow mess, my arms hung lifelessly, my eyes were red and puffy. Screaming in disgust, I flung a bottle of aspirin I found on the counter at the mirror and spun around quickly. What had happened to me? I used to hate being this unkempt, and now it was who I was. 

In rage, I twisted the little knobs for the bath and let the water run as hot as it would go. The temperature made no difference to me; it still felt like ice water as I slid into the tub. I sat there for a good hour, staring at the wall in front of me and wondering what in the hell was happening to me. Then I started doing something really crazy, I started talking outloud to Jack. I told him my thoughts without even really noticing what I was doing. I didn't even think about it, just did it.

I didn't feel much better when I got out of the bath and got dressed, and as I stumbled downstairs, I began to feel another shortness of breath. "Oh God, no," I whispered to myself as I sank down onto a couch in the parlor. Not another attack. I quickly grabbed a book off of the table and started reading it, but it didn't help. My mind began to wonder, and this time it was mostly of Katherine's person. Was she all right? Had she made it to work okay? Oh my God, she was dead…. This went on for some time and I eventually just started rocking back and forth. And then, just as quickly as it had come about, it stopped and I was fine.

When Katherine did arrive home, I was so happy I almost cried. I neglected to tell her about the panic attack, however, and instead busied myself with asking how it went. It was these same mundane conversations that we both kept to all evening. Neither of us wanted to touch on anything related to Titanic or what was going on in my head.

Naturally, I assumed the panic attacks would go away. But I was wrong. They began to get worse, if not stronger, and more frequent. Almost every night I would wake up sweating, sure I was headed for my doom. I hardly slept, when I did had constant nightmares, and was worried and irritable when I was awake. My head persistently ached and I couldn't eat, I would throw up if I did. But, like the naive child that I was, I ignored them, assuming the problems would go away. 

I had also gotten very good at hiding everything from Katherine. I didn't tell her about the anxiety I felt, convinced she would drag me to a doctor and then I would have to tell him everything that had happened. When I felt sick, I just blamed it on my menstrual cycle (which was non-existent, but she didn't know that) and she would leave me alone. I never went outside, just moved from room to room reading books and daydreaming. 

One morning, for some reason, I woke up feeling slightly better then I had in weeks. I had slept for more then a couple of hours and for once was a tiny bit hungry. It was about nine, I realized, as I got dressed, late for me. I was used to rousing at about six. Katherine would be pleased; she hated it when I got up so early.

I calmly went downstairs, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. But I soon stopped dead in my tracks when I saw that Katherine and I were not alone. There was a man sitting at the table, reading the paper and munching on some toast. I watched him cautiously as I continued on my way, over to where my aunt was.

"Ah…Rose, you're up…wonderful." She smiled at me and then gestured toward our guest. "This is Elliot Calvert, an old friend of mine. Elliot, this is Rose Dawson my…new border."

I shot her a thankful glance. If this man knew I was her niece, he would figure soon out I was the famous dead DeWitt Bukator girl. She smiled back at me, understanding and then nodded toward Elliot. I turned back toward him to find him standing, his arm outstretched. I extended my own hand to shake his and then sat down cautiously across from him. 

"Morning miss," he said before taking a sip of coffee. "I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have you staying with Katherine, I worry about her here all alone. How old are you?"

His quick question caught me off guard. "Seventeen," I answered rather coldly. Quite truthfully, I was not in the mood for his asinine questions; I was rather tired all of the sudden. 

But Mr. Calvert continued his attack however, asking me another question almost as soon as I had answered the first. "Ah, just as I suspected; two years younger then my brother Nicholas. Would you like to meet him? Are you in to older men?"

"Excuse me sir, but your question is to bold." My haughty reply shocked even myself. Who was I to say such things? Here I was, living off of my Aunts charity and basically giving her hell as I hibernated in one of her bedrooms, and I was being rude to one of her friends. Sighing, I excused myself quickly and left the dinning room in a hurry. My shoes clicked loudly on the floor as I stormed away and I was very cold. This was getting absurd; now I couldn't even be around other people? 

I retreated into the parlor/library and sank down on one of the plump couches. I couldn't go back and eat, not after the scene I just caused. And God knew I was too proud and strong-willed to go apologize. So I just sat there for a while, reading a few magazines and flipping through some books. Finally, I heard Mr. Calvert bid my aunt goodbye and then I heard the door click closed. 

Katherine came in with her arms folded. She was not, however, angry with me. All she said was, "He's a reporter."

"He's damn good at it," I answered without looking up from my _National Geographic._

Sighing, Katherine crossed the room slowly and sat down next to me. "I know this has been hard for you. And Elliot did go a bit over bored…wrong wording…. he went to far, Rose. Nonetheless, I'm asking you to be civilized." Her voice was soft, almost tender, but I could detect a bit of underlying harshness. 

Sighing, I closed the magazine and threw it on the coffee table. I knew she was right; she was always right. "Fine," I agreed. Elliot wasn't all bad, and he had been friendly despite his intruding questions. I guess I could just put up with them. "How often is he going to be around?" 

"Oh, he comes over a couple times a month for coffee or some toast. And we have lunch together once in a while. He will not be here all the time, I promise. He's got a life Rose."  She stood up, straightened out her dress, and then said she had to go check on her eggs. 

I watched her leave, my eyes slowly following her out of the room and then my ears listening to her heals echoing down the hall. Now I didn't know what to do with myself. My eyes moved from the doorway to glancing around the room, coming to rest on the big window that faced the street. _You cannot go out there, _I told myself, _someone might see you._ But, as I am prone to do, I ignored my head and rose from my position on the couch. I didn't even think about panic attacks. All I knew was I _had_ to get outside. With a incoherent voice, I yelled to Katherine that I was taking a walk. She answered back that it was fine without so much as coming to see me. Her black coat was handing on a hook in the hallway and with unscrupulous hands I dug into the pockets. Within a few seconds, I had found a couple of dollars and pulled them out. I stuffed them into my own skirt pockets and was out the door in the flash. 

The morning sun was bright, however I did not feel its warmth. My body was still chilled to the bone. I envied those who were wiping their brows or walking around in short sleeves. My own long skirt, long sleeved shirt, and heavy boots must have been a sight to see, but I needed them. For some reason, I couldn't shake the cold. 

Not that his inhibited me from taking in everything. Before long, I simply started to ignore those around me and made my way downtown. I tired not to think about being alone; rather that this was a stepping-stone for me. Wiser still, I consciously chose to avoid the newspaper kiosks. 

For about two hours I walked about, peering in little shops and rather enjoying myself. I talked to no one, but I wasn't entirely sure they wanted to talk to me either. Basically, I was a fish out of water (in more ways then one) and everyone around me knew it. But it was getting close to noon and I was getting hungry (for once.) Without difficulty, I spotted a quaint little café off a side street and crossed over to where it was. A little bell rang overhead as I entered, my nostrils immediately filled with wonderful smells. 

There weren't very many people, so I ushered myself over to a table in the back and sat down in one of the benches. I had never in my life eaten at a place like this. The menus were not in some foreign language, there was no chandeliers overhead; the silverware was limited to three pieces, there was one water glass, there was even just a single tiny napkin. Needless to say, I was in heaven. Almost. 

"Can I take your order miss?"

I glanced up quickly, my heart racing. Who was this person? I calmed down quickly, realizing it was the waitress. Even so, I was so use to not being addressed as 'miss' that I had gotten use to not hearing it. "Um, how about a coke," I stammered, not even knowing what one earth a coke was, "and, ah, a piece of cheesecake." 

She nodded, wrote something down on her piece of paper, and then left. I was surprised that I had gotten away with such an odd order. Shrugging, I began to examine my surroundings again. But it was just for a second, because all of a sudden a voice broke through my thoughts. 

"Coke's are my favorite."

My eyes drifted upward and saw a young man standing next to my table. He had a big grin on his face, floppy hair, and familiar eyes. He was dressed well enough however, so he couldn't be just anyone. "Excuse me?" I asked breathlessly. I was suddenly very nervous once again and my heart began to beat harder. Was this to happen everytime I meet someone new?

The man, to my shock, slid into the bench across from me and then grinned again. "I said: coke's are my favorite. I overheard your order." 

Eyebrows lifted, I stared at this presumptuous man. I was no longer really nervous, but I could feel a warning bell go off in my head as I studied him. He was well on his was to getting a rude comment from me like, like Calvert, if he didn't vacate the bench quickly. My look didn't seem to faze him however and he actually had to nerve to order when the waitress came back asking if this would be a joint bill. I assured her it would not and then the little weasel butted right in, saying he would like the same thing I was having. Finally, after I didn't say anything for about three minutes, he stuck out his hand across the table. Tentatively, I grasped it. His hands were warm and clammy, but nonetheless, I shook his hand diligently. 

"Name's Kevin Berkley, but everyone just calls me Berkley," he introduced himself pleasantly. 

I withdrew my hand quickly. "Rose," I answered softly. Okay, so he knew my name. Now will you please go away?

But he didn't move. "Pleasure to have lunch with you Rose."

That did it for me. I stood up, rather insurgent like, and moved from my bench. I was not having lunch with this complete and utter stranger. And to make matters more justified, I had once again lost the trifle amount of appetite I had possessed. Throwing a couple of dollar bills on the table, I started to leave, pausing only to say, "Good day Mr. Berkeley. Feel free to take my coke." And with that I was out the door.

As I walked home, my mind began to replay the scene in my head. Why on earth had I acted like that? First with that Elliot and now this Berkley guy? It was as if I was eternally stuck in the week before my period. God I was such a fucked-up mess. I felt disgusted with myself, completely and utterly appalled. Had Jack not given up his life for me to get away from all this? I immediately froze in my tracks. No, don't think of Jack. He's not what this was about.

I could feel something begging to well up inside of me, so I shut off my mind and hurried home. I was stronger then this, I could make it. I was fine. Really. Fine.

****

**_As always…REVIEW! Let me know what you think, if there is anything you're dying to see, ect ect._**

**_School is starting, so chapters may take a while. I'm also starting work, so blah._**

Been thinking about doing a real, chaptery Mummy fic. Is anyone interested? E-mail me or something if you are!


	5. Chapter Four

_Ugh, I know it's been forever and a day and I am terribly sorry for the lack of updating. When I actually have free time between school and work, the only thing I seem to be able to get down is stuff for my Mummy story. No clue why. That's just what's been going on._ _ Anyway, enjoy…comments and such are MUCH APPRICATED! Like someone I know said: Reviews are like sex, you don't miss it till you ain't getting any. _

Bird on a wire outside my motel room  
But he ain't singin'  
Girl in white outside a church in June  
But the church bells they ain't ringing  
I'm sittin' here in this bar tonight  
But all I'm thinkin' is  
I'm the same old story same old act  
One step up and two steps back

- "One Step Up" by Bruce Springsteen

Chapter Four 

One step up, two steps back. That's how it always is, right? After the trip into town, things went right back to where they had been, possibly even worse. Except for this time I sank more into a depression like state then an anxiety ridden one. However, I was numb to what was happening to me. I continued to lose weight as I hardly ate, and what was worse, was the fact that I didn't care. I didn't give a damn that I was wasting my life away. All I did was sit around the house and wallow in self-pity. 

At night, I still had panic attacks every once in a while. It was actually a nice change from the endless feeling of hopelessness and rage I usually had inside of me. It was relieving to know my heart still did beat, that the fault line running down the middle of it hadn't damaged the organ to badly. 

It was late June when Katherine finally brought to my attention how pathetic I was being. In short, she told me to get my ass outside. I refused flatly. Outside there were people, people meant people like Cal, and that meant I might be found out.

"Rose, you're so pale," she protested one morning at breakfast.

 "I don't care," I mumbled, looking down at my book. They had become my salvation. When I wasn't sitting around or having maniacal thoughts of my aunt dying, I was reading. It was a good thing Katherine had a large conglomeration of them, because now a days I was going through one or two every twenty-four hours. They kept my mind occupied, allowed my to escape the harsh realities. 

Katherine sighed and checked her watch. "I've got to go," she said, her voice sounding very tried. "Please, please, please…go outside." She began to fuss around, trying to get her purse and things in order. "Go find a job…something…just to get out of the house."

"I can't do anything," I answered truthfully. Who would hire me? I couldn't cook, I couldn't sew, I didn't know how to waitress, I couldn't act because the thought of getting in front of people made me feel short of breath, and I couldn't teach, that was almost worse then acting. 

Katherine ignored my statement as she gave me a pleading look and then she was gone, hustling out the backdoor. I sighed, angry about having to be alone again. The clock in the hall ticked rather annoyingly as I folded my book down on the table and clicked my fingers on the wood. Then again, I thought, I did not really want any company except my aunt and she had to go to work she could not only support herself, but her pissing-her-life-away-niece.

Without hesitation, I went back to my book. It was quite interesting, however after another hour, my eyes started to ache and I began to get bored. I could be captivated only so far with a subject when it was just I. If someone else were around to talk with, subjects became easier to be immersed in. However, when the discussions were one sided, they began to outstay their welcome. I sighed and set the book down again. I didn't even know what I was talking to myself about. 

With some difficulty, I got up from the table and staggered down the hall. In more time then it takes to tell, I climbed the stairs and went into my bedroom. It wasn't that I was bored, per say. I just couldn't find anything that held my interest for very long. I crossed the room, going over to the big window. Pulling back the curtains, I looked down at the street. Every few moments, someone would walk past, on his or her way to somewhere. I envied them. If only I didn't get sick everytime I stepped outside alone and if only Katherine were home more. 

I hated couples the most. They made me want to vomit and run out there and tell them to cherish every moment together. So whenever I saw two people huddled really close, or walking hand in hand, I would let the curtain fall back to its resting place and shut the two out of my vision field. A deep pain would rise in my chest and I would find it hard to breathe. But then, in a few moments, the feeling would subside and I could look again. 

"You're being pathetic," I said outloud to myself. "You're absolutely insane!"

I suddenly got it in my head that I needed a change and decided that change needed to be my hair. Why this all of the sudden came to me, I never knew. It just appeared and then I thought, _what a nice idea!_ My hair was so ridiculously long; I hated it. Smiling softly, I moved from my place near the window. I'd seen some scissors in the bathroom the other day; hopefully they were still there.

_You don't know the first thing about cutting hair_, a little voice in my head told me as I made my way through the quiet hall and into the bathroom. I cast this conscience aside. I'd seen the hairdresser do it enough when I'd gone, how hard could it be?

I soon found out. First I washed and dried my hair, which felt good, and then combed it out, which took some work. I hadn't really paid much attention to it in the last few mouths, so it really was a mess. Then, with trembling hands, I lifted the scissors and sniped a few ends off. It really wasn't that difficult, at first, but then my hair began to dry and was starting to be all different lengths. This was not looking good.

With angst, I started to cut more off and the next thing I knew, it was just below my shoulders; when it dried completely, it would be just about level with them. I put the scissors down before I could do anymore damage. Then I dared to look at myself. A couple of pieces were still uneven; I cringed. So much for it being easy. 

I sighed and took a towel from the rack behind me. Furiously I dried the failed experiment and then stood back to study myself again. Dry, it looked a tad bit better, but still not great. 

_Oh well_, I told myself as I threw the towel on the ground. _You can't do much more then that._

I retreated back to my room I stayed up there starting out at the big scary world until my aunt finally did come home- earlier then she or I expected. It was only three; I glanced at the clock when I heard her come in. How odd. She was almost never home early. 

Dragging myself downstairs, I met her in the hallway. Before I could ask her why she was home she gave me an almost angry look and then groaned. 

"You're still here?" 

Her disappointed tone of voice stung me. _Yes_, I was _still_ here.

Katherine sighed and hung her purse up on the coat rack. I saw her coming toward me and before I could move, she had grabbed my chin with her hand, holding it firmly in place.

"Rose, listen to me, this is pathetic. Will you please let me put you on some sort of medications so we can get this cleared up? I promise, if they do not work, you can go off them. But this sleeplessness, the attacks…they need to be taken care of."

I shied my eyes away from her gaze. How did she know about all that? I had not told her anything. My mind raged with things I wanted to shout, but I couldn't.  Instead, I tore myself away from her grip and back into the corner of the hallway. Katherine reached into her purse and pulled out a little bottle. After shaking it up and down a few times, she threw it at me. I caught it before the thing could hit me in the face and stared at it. 

"Just try them," Katherine directed as she gave me a stern look. "I know how many are in there and I will be checking to see if you are taking them."

_What if I flush them down the toilet_? I thought bitterly as she turned around.

"And don't even try throwing them away," she called over her shoulder, starting to walk toward the kitchen. "I'll be able to tell if you are taking them or not. Oh, and what did you do with your hair?"

Shit, was she a mind reader or something? Ignoring her inquiry about my hair, I sighed heavily and looked at the bottle again. I supposed it couldn't hurt to try them, just a once or twice.

******

They worked, needless to say. I slept soundly every night, woke up refreshed and actually begun to have a sort of appetite. It was nice to finally be able to eat food and enjoy it again. And while my diet was nowhere near as it should have been, at least I felt a little better. At least Katherine got off my case. She was rather smug about the fact that she "told me so" as well. 

It was not that I minded the drugs, it was that I was scared. I knew what I was like when I was wasn't taking them. And it frightened me to think that if they suddenly went away, I would become seriously screwed up again. I would rather solve the problem then rely on drugs for the rest of my life, but since no one had any clue that that problem was, including myself, it was pointless. 

I didn't mind being around people as much, but I hated being alone. It really frightened me to think that if someone wasn't there Cal could just show up and take me away. And then this thought disgusted me. Had I become so helpless that I was afraid of Cal? I had proved I was stronger than his will already; I had survived when he had abused me, tried to lure me in, tried to kill me and my best friend. I had become a stone against the harsh wind that was his oppressive personality; he might have tried to wear me down, but had not succeeded in the end. I was stronger then he was, or would ever be. 

It was the first day in July that Katherine announced that she had been invited to a Fourth of July party and asked if I would like to accompany her as her guest. This took some thought on my part. On the one hand, I reasoned it might be healthy for me to get outside and be with some new company. However, I was still a tad nervous about the whole situation. With hesitation, however, I agreed. Katherine looked even more pleased then when she got me to take those pills.

I hated that. 


	6. Chapter Five

_Yeah, yeah, it's been forever since I updated… again. I'm so sorry, really. There is always something though, so just go with it…and I know it's not set in Philly…but I really like the song and I feel like it goes with it. Love you guys… review and let me know…please!_

_Oh yeah, bit of harsh language…. you've been warned…._

_Okay, last thing….go see Cold Mountain…awesome, awesome movie…_

_Enjoy!_

***********

****

**_I walked the avenue until my legs felt like stone_**

**_I heard the voices of friends, vanished and gone_**

**_At night I could hear the blood in my vines_**

Black and whispering as the rain 

**_On the streets of Philadelphia…_******

-"Streets of Philadelphia" –Bruce Springsteen

Chapter Five 

The party was in full swing by the time we arrived. I shied behind Katherine as she rang the doorbell and knocked on the door simultaneously. Self-consciously, I patted my hair. My aunt said it was rather becoming; I still thought it was a mess. I still didn't know why I'd done it.  Perhaps I really was going completely insane. Katherine had gotten me to wear this god-awful dress that supposedly "brought out my eyes." I thought it looked like a mermaid costume by the way it was colored: a funny greenish laced with bits of gold. Didn't seem too patriotic to me, but who knew with Katherine. 

It was a warm night, from what I heard from my aunt. I, on the other hand, was freezing. At the moment I would have given anything to be back at home, wrapped up in a blanket and snuggled in a chair close to a fire. 

The next thing I knew someone had opened the door and I was forced to be with real people again. It was this woman, about my height, who looked the same age as Katherine- maybe a bit older. She was wearing a blue dress and had way too much make up on.

"Katherine, so glad you could come!" Mrs. X exclaimed, throwing her arms around my aunt, who started laughing. 

"Oh, I'm only to happy to," Katherine responded when she could talk again. She was using that voice that she used when we were around people that were either a: higher up on the social latter or b: she wanted to impress. I was guessing that it was the latter in this case because their house wasn't very fancy and the woman didn't look like a society bitch.

Katherine then turned toward me and stepped aside. "This is my friend and border Rose Dawson," she introduced me as if I couldn't talk for myself. "Rose, this is Alexandra Kunkler; I work with her husband."

Ahh, so that was it, I was correct about her wanting to impress someone. Diligently, I stuck out my hand and played the old Society Rose bit. God, I really hated that.  Mrs. Kunkler shook my hand warmly and then started blabbing about someone else around my age that was there. I listened with one ear open and the other completely shut off. Honestly, I didn't care. When she took me by the arm and started leading me through the house, I threw a pleading glance over my shoulder at Katherine, who just smiled and waved. Traitor.

Next thing I knew I was being introduced to one Lily Bratcher, who was a friend of the family's. The girl was significantly shorter then I, and not thin, but not fat either. When she smiled her two cheeks budged out, making her look slightly like a chipmunk, but it was endearing.  She was wearing a blue dress, rather appropriate for the fourth of July, and it made me feel even more ridiculous in my green outfit. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, the kind I had wanted as a little girl. It was also straight, well, more or less it was straight. That bitch. Once again I was jealous of someone I didn't even know. 

After all the 'pleased to meet you' formalities had been taken care of, Mrs. Kunkler said she had to check on the caterer and the left, leaving me alone with Lily. The girl gestured to a door about ten feet away and I followed her as she led me outside to a porch. The night air was a welcoming change from the stuffy interior. Though I was still cold, I felt flustered and claustrophobic in a room with so many people. Walking over to the edge of a rail, I leaned over and looked out across the brilliant views of the city. All of Chicago was out tonight, but that was nothing new for a weekend. 

"I understand if you don't want to talk to me," Lily said suddenly, coming up beside me as I leaned against the porch rail. 

"Why would you think that?" 

Lily shrugged and then, to my shock, stuck her hand down he dress front.  Pulling it out a minute later, she immerged with a slightly beat up pack of cigarettes. When she took one out and handed it out to me, I felt like I was finally seeing the light again. Katherine wouldn't let me smoke; she hated the smell and thought it was bad for you. Gladly, I took what was offered to me and greedily accepted the lighter Lily then handed me.

"God, thank you," I sighed, blowing the think smoke from my mouth with a satisfied groan. 

Lily chuckled. "You looked like you needed it," she answered, cigarette handing out of her mouth in a strangely familiar way. 

I smiled as I looked back out at the horizon. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had a smoke. As far as I could tell, it had been that night…below decks, when _we_ had danced. If I closed my eyes, I could almost remember his arms around my waist, the sound of the lively band, the smell of cheap booze and smoke. I could almost feel him…

"So why ya here?"

My fantasy was interrupted again. Lily was asking the ever-popular 'why are you here' question. Which meant, what the hell was your story. "It's complicated," I mumbled vaguely, exhaling a large plume of smoke. "You don't want to hear it." 

"I got time," Lily replied, giving me a soft smile. "God knows I want to have an excuse to be out here as long as possible. Half those people in there couldn't even tell you when the Fourth of July was." 

That brought a smile to my face. "You really don't know want to know, trust me," I said, chuckling in spite of my self. I didn't want to tell you, was what my mind was really shouting at me. It was Independence Day, and I was finally free. The last thing I wanted was to relive past tribulations. 

Lily was quiet for a good minute. I got the feeling that she was thinking something over, her eyes became dark and cloudy, and she neglected her cigarette for a minute, lazily holding it between two fingers.  Blinking a couple of times, I turned my gaze back over the view. 

"It can't be any more tragic then my story Rose," she said finally, capturing my attention once again.

"Try me," I responded dryly. 

I hadn't expected her to actually say anything, so when he started to talk, I was shocked. First she gave me this big long drawn out ordeal about where and how she grew up and after that is when she launched into the interesting stuff. Call me crazy, but I felt drawn into this girl's tale. Call it a connection.

"My parents died summer after that and I moved to Boston when I was sixteen to live with my cranky old aunt. She had this god awful house-" here Lily exhaled a large amount of smoke, adding to the character of the story "-with about twenty cats. The place smelled dreadful Rose, you have no idea. After a while, I couldn't take it anymore, so I started going out at night, mainly to get out of the house for a change. A month or so later I met Berry."

I felt a chill run down my spine as my cigarette hung limply from my lips. Men. I couldn't even hear a story about one without thinking of Him. 

"Berry and I started going out just about every weekend. He was twenty-four and married, but I didn't care. I was just happy someone besides a fifty-year-old woman was interested in me. After awhile," she paused for a long moment, "we started fucking around." 

Lily's blatant language startled me. Not that I hadn't heard the phrase before, nor could I say I hadn't used it. It was nice to hear it from someone else for a change. It almost made me smile.

"One thing led to another and next thing you know, I'm knocked up and he's telling me he's got a wife and a little baby back in Philly. Then he left town without so much as a goodbye. Bastard." Lily sighed heavily and took a long drawl of her cigarette. A shadow of anger and hurt had fallen across her face, so very different from the cheerful girl I had met just a few minutes ago. 

"What did you do?" I heard myself asking. 

Lily shrugged. "Picked up my shit and ran here. Had the baby in the streets, gave it up for adoption, and then moved in with one of my cousin's out here. "

"Do they know?"

"About the baby? No," Lily answered, peering out at the horizon. "I don't even remember what he looked like."

I didn't quite know what to say, so I leaned against rail and started in the same direction Lily was. The distant chorus of party-goers could be heard through the shut glass doors, the light from inside playing with the shadows of the night. It would have been an awesome sight, were it not for the fact that I felt like shooting myself at that very moment and I was pretty sure Lily felt the same. I felt like a bitch for thinking that I was the only one with problems. 

"You going to sit there and tell me what you went through was as bad?"

Lily's question cut through the conglomeration of voices. Slowly, I turned my head so that I could look at her. I stared long and hard, not saying anything, simply nodding leisurely. There was no way I was going to tell her. 

My companion shrugged her shoulders and tore her gaze away from mine. "Wanna get otta here?" she asked after a long moment.

"God yes," I mumbled before taking a long drawl of my dissipating cigarette. I was going to miss it when it was gone. 

She grabbed her coat, I borrowed one of hers, and for a long while we walked, first away from the house, than down the driveway, ending up on the road that led…somewhere. I didn't much care at this point. Between us, we finished off the rest of that pack of cigarettes, hardly talking except to ask for a light or something of the sort. My feet began to hurt about a mile and a half down the road, so I took off my shoes and threw them on the curb. Then we continued on, farther and farther away from the house until we were in town. Cars raced by as we climbed up onto the sidewalk and strolled. A few noisy brawlers even had the indecency to honk and whistle. Lily and I simultaneously gave them the middle finger.

As we passed by the first of the many bars we would undoubtedly come upon, I paused and stared through the dusty glass. Swarms of people, mostly men, filled the hazy room, loud noises resonating from every corner. I wanted to be in there, I realized, as I leaned against the windowpane. I wanted to get piss drunk, fuck as many guys as possible, and then not even care the next day. I wanted to feel alive again and not have it mean a damn thing the next day. I wanted to be truly free. 

But I would care because the fact of the matter was that I was still attached. This thought hit me as Lily was pulling me away from the view. She insisted we walk over to the nearby park. I felt a little numb, wanting another cigarette and hoping that for my own good Lily didn't have any more on her. She made me sit down on a cold bench upon which I simply plopped down and stared into the night. Lily sat down beside me and we waited in silence for absolution to wash over us. But it didn't happen. Lily was too proud to let it in, and I was too stubborn and unaware to realize that's what I needed. 

After a while, I rose from my seat and crossed over to the little stone bridge that acted as a pathway over a small canal. I tentatively walked to the middle of the overpass and stared into the black water rushing beneath me. With trembling hands, I reached into my inside dress pocket and pulled out the little glass bottle of pills Katherine had given me. I shook my head at them and then launched them into the abyss where they landed with a loud splash.

I didn't need damn pills; I didn't need anyone else. I was going to get through whatever this was… by myself… no matter the cost. I was Rose Dawson; I'd survived a hell of a lot worse then this.  

The only problem was, I didn't know what was wrong with me. And I had no idea where to start. 


	7. Chapter Six

All right, here ya go…chapter six….sorry I've more or less dropped off the face of the planet…Things have been a little hectic. And once again, the italics and what not don't always work. Sigh. Sorry. Anyway. Please let me know what you think! Please please please.    

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Chapter Six 

During late July and early August my crusade began in full force. I had to make myself get through this without medication, on my own, free from anything or anyone. Because once you lose that something that is keeping you sane, what have you got left? Restraints had ruined me before; the last thing I wanted was to become suicidal again. Freedom was too important to me, and I didn't want that independence to be based on whether or not I had taken a little tablet.

Without the pills, I hardly slept and tried to keep myself appear normal through a careful system of lying. I became good; I managed to keep Katherine satisfied for a while. But I became restless. Once it seemed I had read every book in the house and had finally given up on my idea of learning to cook and clean properly, I decided it was time to get out and explore the big bad world a little more. The fact of the matter was, everything in the house reminded me something I didn't want to be reminded of. The clock, the bed, even the staircase or a shoe all became prompts of another time and place. And they were becoming too damn hard to simply ignore. I need escape. 

The thought of leaving the house frightened the hell out of me though. Everywhere I went made me feel uncomfortable. It always felt as if people were staring at me…and sometimes they were. I would wear a jacket because I was always cold and half the time I didn't have any sort of expression on my face, just a blank appearance. I wasn't sure what to think…of anything.

I wasn't trying to be a complete social outcast. But hardly anything moved me anymore, and when something did, it generally related to _Titanic_. These effects were not encouraging, I would usually end up shaking on a floor somewhere or running home as quickly as possible.  I never cried.  And as long as nothing got to me, I was almost completely fine. 

Finally, I enrolled in an acting class downtown that was being advertised. Drama was always something I had been interested in, but, like the majority of my other interests, it had been frowned upon. Acting, I was told, was not a practical skill for any good society wife to have (how ironic). Thus, I was not to be involved. 

But I could do what I wanted now, and so I got drawn in. The first day I was even a little excited as I showed up at the theater. However, I was also dreadfully nervous. Acting meant showing one's emotions; I was afraid all of mine had died with the other half of my soul. 

Rain poured from the sky as I opened up one of the two heavy wooden doors to the theater and stepped inside the building. Before me was a small lobby and past that an open set of doors. Pulling my hood off my head, I shook my hair and teased it a little with my hand. It had grown out a little, but it still hovered around my shoulders. I took a deep breath and nervously walked toward the opposite doors. 

The soft murmur of voices greeted me as I entered the dim theater and found myself walking down an isle. My heart, pounding as if it would burst through my chest, was nothing compared to my head, which was racing in overdrive. There was too much to take in at once, all these new faces, the thrill of doing something new. For once, I felt that old spark of adventure fill my soul. But it disappeared as quickly as it came when nervousness completely took over my body. 

Trembling, I sat down in one of the plush sets, sitting away from the group of people.  From my position, I studied them with curious eyes. While most seemed to be around my age, a few of the students seemed older and even more seemed younger.  Most seemed to know at least one other person and were happily chatting with said person. As I was staring, a man turned around and then, to my horror, waved and got up from his seat. He approached me as I fought the urge to run away. And then, strangely, the only thing I could think about was a good smoke. Oh Jesus.

Sitting down next to me, he then extended his hand. "Hey there. Name's Danny O'Connell. Why don't you come sit over with the rest of us?"

I slowly shook his warm hand, feeling the stark difference to my own skin. "I- I'm not sure," I stumbled in return. "And the name's Rose…Rose Dawson." 

Danny smiled, bearing white teeth that were a big contrast to his fiery mop of red hair. And I never thought anyone's red hair could be brighter then mine. "Well, welcome. You'll like the class…this is the third time I've taken it. I just can't get enough." 

Smiling weakly, I tried appearing impressed- and interested. "I'll take your word for it Mr. O'Connell."

"Why don't you come over with us? I promise we don't bite. Well, maybe that rascal Tom over there…the one with the curly brown hair and ugly jacket."

His comment made me smile a little, helping in turn to calm my nerves. Shakily, I rose from my seat and followed Danny over to the group. He introduced me, and then I sat down, right smack in the middle of the lot of them. They then struck up conversations with each other and more or less I was ignored once again. Danny asked me a question or two, but he soon gave up. Probably because I was rude and unfriendly. I didn't want or mean to be, but I couldn't help it.  

The rest of the day pretty much continued like the morning. Our instructor, an awful man resembling a plump cow, made us go through a long series of basic drills, most of which I either messed up on or didn't do well enough, which got me yelled at. One time, after one particularly stupid incident when I went upstage when I was suppose to be downstage and was criticized in front of everyone, Danny cleared his throat loudly and when I looked over, he was making the most absurd face that it made me laugh. It felt good to laugh.

It was still raining as I left, so I pulled the hood over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, preparing for the long walk home. I hadn't brought any money for a cab and was otherwise not in the mood for small talk with a driver of such cab. Besides, a good walk would most likely do me some good.

I was hardly three meters out the door, however, when I heard my name being called. Pausing, I turned and saw Danny jogging toward me. 

"Which way you going?" he asked, slightly winded.

"Ahhh…that way," I said, pointing to our right. 

He grinned at me as he pulled his own hat over his head and buttoned his coat up. "Want some company?" 

_No._ "All right." 

And so we took off in the rain, both of us silent. It was strange to be having a connection with a human again, even if it was just a shared walk. I felt peculiarly comfortable. I had no idea who this Danny man was, but something about him made me trust him. I couldn't explain my ease one little bit. Then again, the more I thought about him being a complete stranger, the slightest bit of nervousness began to form in the back of my mind. 

_Don't do this now Rose, you were doing so well…._

"You did all right in there."

"Hmm," I murmured, at a loss of what else to say.

"I mean it, " Danny continued. "I've seen a lot of first timers crack under Jones, but you held your own."

"I'm used to it," I answered, avoiding his gaze.  I had spent most of my teenage years being yelled at by one person or another. 

It was quiet after that. I didn't particularly have anything to say to Danny and I'm pretty sure that he was worried about talking to me. Then again, he did ask to walk with me. Sighing inwardly, I was beginning to want a cigarette again. Damn it, was I addicted to the stupid things? More then once over the next few minutes I thought about ditching the poor guy, realizing I just wasn't ready for friendly relationships other then family right now. Lily had been one thing; and if Danny had been through hell and back I probably would have been more comfortable around him. But I felt so disconnected with people now, they just didn't understand. No one could no what it was like to stand at the edge of something horrible, witness it, and then have to return to normality…unless you actually had. It left you with a very strange feeling, like you didn't deserve to be there or that you cheated. And unless Danny started telling me a story real quick, I was two minutes away from leaving and returning to my own world of solitude. 

Maybe what happened next was a miracle.

"Want some?" 

Stopping, I looked over and saw Danny holding out, of all things, a flask. My eyes widened…alcohol. Oh sweet Jesus.  If I couldn't get a hold of nicotine, this was the next best thing. My expression must have been more excited looking then I thought because my companion started laughing.

"Here, from one Irish to another," he said and handed it over.

Pushing the fact that I was only a quarter Irish out of my head, I greedily took the flask and took a long sip. It was straight up vodka…probably 98 or 99 proof. The real stuff. 

"Do you just walk around with this stuff?" I asked after the initial burn had worn off and the liquid had slid into my stomach. 

Danny took his flask back, stood a swig, and then shrugged. "Sometimes. I find it to be useful in some situations." Then he handed it back to me.

After a few more hardy swigs, I handed it back and we started walking again. It took a few minutes, but before long I felt the effects start to hit me. No one could ever say I was not a cheep drunk. I could feel myself beginning to loosen up. 

"Have you lived in Chicago all your life?"

I think my question surprised him- probably because it was the first I had spoken without being talked to first.

"Nah, I moved into the city not to long ago."

"I as well!" Wow…a definite sign I wasn't thinking right. And what's worse, I started giggling. "You'll have to forgive me Mr. O'Connell, I haven't had this much to drink all at once a while." 

He started laughing again, "I probably shouldn't have offered it to you then." 

"No," I said, pausing in mid-step, "I'm glad you did." I resumed my walking; at least I could still do that properly….in the rain too, might I add. 

"Where are you from than?" 

This question was not easily answered. Technically, I suppose I was from Philadelphia. But since I now lived in Chicago, I considered that my home. I snuck a glance at Danny; he was waiting patiently for my response. 

"Not too far from here," I finally answered curtly. "And you? 'Around here' too?"

Danny shook his head, "Nah, I'm from Quincy." He paused and shot me a quick glance. "Quincy is over near Iow-"

"I know where it is," I snapped without meaning too.

_"I know what ice fishing is!"_

Now I was the one who paused, in speech as well as in step. Everything around me started to turn a funny shade of gray as all sound drifted away. 

"Sorry, you just seem like, ya know…kind of an indoor girl…" 

"God damn it," I whispered, shutting my eyes and shaking my head quickly from side to side. _No, no, no, no, no…make it stop. I don't need this, not now. _

"Hey, you all right there?" Danny's hand on my arm brought me back into the wonderful world of color and real sound again. 

Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed the flask out of his hand. With one giant gulp, I drank enough to make the back of my throat burn and my eyes water. Then I calmly handed the flask back to Danny. He gave me a strange look as he once again took it in his hand, but he didn't say anything. 

"I've got to go, I'm sorry Danny," I whispered hoarsely.

"Are you going to be back next week?" he asked as I had started to walk forward. He remained in the spot where we had both just been standing. 

"I'm not sure!" I called before breaking out into a run. The rain poured down my face, offering no redemption for what I was feeling. But I didn't let my emotions get to my head. I simply ran. The effects of the alcohol were no longer taking cause, the only reminder I has was the burning sensation, still present in my throat. 

When I reached to the house, I desperately ran into the door (literally) and screamed when I couldn't get the knob to turn. I needed to get out of this accusing rain, needed to be alone, away from anything that might cause emotional turbulence beyond my control. With fumbling hands, I retrieved a key from my jacket pocket and opened the door, stumbling inside. 

The only sound that met my ears after I closed the door was the quiet pounding of the rain on the roof and the sound of my own heart, loudly beating beneath my breast. Attached to the back of the door, with a tack, was a note. I ripped it off of its holder and quickly opened it up. In Katherine's neat handwriting she explained that she had a date and wouldn't be home until later. 

I collapsed against the wall. I had been counting on her being here to help me gain some touch with reality. But instead I was alone, again.

Tiredly, I trudged upstairs, no longer in a mad rush to get inside the house. My room was cold as I entered, but I had become so used to the temperature that it seemed perfectly normal to me. Immediately, I crossed the room to my dresser and pulled the bottom drawer open. Peeling back some layers of skirts and digging way in the back, I found a small bundle I had hid months ago. Removing the shirt I had wrapped around it, I soon found myself holding the Heart of the Ocean once again. 

It was the first time I had looked at anything I had from The Ship since I arrived at Katherine's, other than the jacket, which I still wore to bed sometimes when I couldn't sleep. Oh, the secrets that the necklace had locked deep within its luminous stones. I choose not to dwell on such thoughts, they were too painful. I simply stared into the blue abyss, as if the answerers I needed would transport through its radiance. 

***********

I was still awake when Katherine arrived home shortly before nine later that night. She called for me, but I didn't answer, simply rolled over in bed, facing away from the door. I had spent the last couple of hours here, wrapped up in my nightgown and a blanket, once again trying to make sense of this whole thing. But like so many times before, I didn't know what to think.

I heard Katherine pass by, her heals clicking noisily against the floor, and then the defiant shutting of her door as she went into her room.  

A half hour later, I still could not sleep. My mind would not rest for some reason. So, without thinking, I pulled myself off of the bed and left the room. I kept the blanket wrapped around my shoulders as my feet shuffled against the floor. With a quiet knock, I pushed open the door to Katherine's room.

She was sitting up in bed with a book in her hand and light illuminating from a lamp on the bedside table. 

"How was the date?" I asked, my voice hoarse from so many hours of not speaking. 

Katherine smiled weakly. "It was all right, nothing too special." 

I didn't bother to reply. Nothing I was going to say would be if any usefulness. I didn't want to tell her about my disastrous day. She had been so proud of my determination to get out of the house, to begin to experience life once again. I just couldn't let her down in this way. I couldn't tell her that people still scared me and that the thing that I should be over still haunted me in some bizarre way that I knew nothing about. 

I sighed heavily and crossed the bedroom floor, crawling onto the bed next to Katherine. She watched me the whole time, her eyes following me, watching me, studying me, much the way a cat absorbs everything around it.  And when I closed my own eyes, I heard her quiet sigh and then the rustle of pages as she opened her book again.

Her bed was comfortable, warm and feathery, and smelling like jasmine. I buried my head into the soft folds of the blankets and pillows, desperate to once again hold on to something tangible and real. I needed security, and he was gone. 

A lump rose in the back of my throat as I pulled my head out from their warm burrow, my eyes flickering open to meet the light. 

"Katherine?" I asked in a whisper.

Her eyes met mine as she turned her head. "Yes?" she asked, looking at me intently. I knew she knew. Something about the way she was staring at me told me that she knew I was a disappointment and that I was lost. I was glad she recognized it, because I didn't know how to tell her. My mind was such a mess of confusions and emotions. I wanted nothing more to figure it all out right then and there. But it's hard to escape from a cave without a guide, flashlight, or clue as to how much further the end is from where you are standing. 

"Never mind," I whispered. 

"Let go, Rose, please. Just let go," Katherine said back, still starting at me. 

Let go of what?  I stared right back, another unexpected lump rising in the back of my throat. I swallowed the emotion, determined not to cry. For crying was for those who were weak, which I was not. 

  
"Let it in, don't lock it out."

Katherine's words were beginning to frighten me. What did she possibly know that I didn't? The only ghosts in my past I had were laid to rest when I had stepped of the Carpathia on that rainy April night…right? That was it, the end it of. I didn't need to ever think about it, it was finished. 

Without another sound, I rolled over and shut my eyes tight. No more of this. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want anymore of Katherine's ideas or words. Jack was dead. What more could there possibly be to know relating to the issue? He was gone and I was left. There was nothing difficult about figuring that out. So why was I having such a hard time?

Don't lock what out? 

br

What could I possibly be doing to myself? 


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me all summer to get this posted. I've had the worst summer of my entire life and take full responsibility/blame for my absence or whatever you want to call it. Please enjoy. **

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**Chapter Seven**

_September 1912_

There is something about a sunset that transcends all time or purpose. In its array of brilliant designs you find yourself asking the questions that you need to ask yourself in order to further your development. Something about the way the colors blend together just so reminds us of our true, natural selves. We connect within our spirit once again. For a few moments we stop being the one everyone else wants us to be and truly feel alive. Nothing else, nothing more. We are alive. And in this moment of life, everything becomes much clearer.

So why was I having such a hard time finding the answers to my burning questions? And why did I feel dead.

Sitting on the front steps of Katherine's house, I peered with curious eyes towards the west and at the beautiful sunset before me. There were so many different shades of orange and purple, making all the world appear handsome at a time when I was sure it was not. A soft, subtle breeze floated by me, lifting my hair and whispering inaudible secrets into my ear. Bees, birds, and the occasional butterfly, a personal favorite, fluttered by in their way to some other corner of the yard, or, perhaps, to a new territory all together. The sweet smell of Late Summer filled my nostrils. I could feel the peace and answers I sought looming in front of me, but they were behind a haze that I could not penetrate enough to make them understood.

Something was beginning to change, I could sense it in my blood. Perhaps it was simply that summer was winding down and fall would soon be arriving on our doorstep. Or maybe it was the fact that I knew, subconsciously, what was wrong with me. I couldn't admit it, but in the deep recesses of my brain I knew what was ailing me. In any case, change was immanent.

And perhaps, it was because I was starting to give up.

I hated myself, I realized as I continued to stare off into the distant horizon. I hated who I had become and what I had done to myself. I hated the way I treated other people, hated the way I looked, hated the way I couldn't sleep, even hated Katherine for letting me get to this point. She could see something I didn't, and it was irritating that she wouldn't tell me. Perhaps she was right, that I needed to figure this out for myself. But for the moment, that wasn't working and I hated who I was. Indeed, I was a few months away from becoming eighteen, an adult, and I couldn't even take care of myself. I had given up everything for nothing, or so I thought. What had I become? A sorry, helpless little girl living in charity, afraid of everything and unable to reason like a normal person.

What was I thinking? Was I agreeing with my Mother or Cal in a sense, that women couldn't be intellectual, that they were not meant to be self-sufficient or have hearts? We were all meant to sheep, following a crowd, unable to think for ourselves?

Of course not, I knew that. But was it something more that irked me, relating to these thoughts. I was stronger, bigger, smarter then all of that. Was I not the same Rose who had stood up in the middle of my English class when I was twelve and asked why we were not allowed to read _The Awakening? _Was I not the same girl who hid and kept all of my father's books on utopian societies and social equality for women when my mother threatened to have them destroyed after his death? I had survived more loss then I could bare, both from death and unfair situations, and lived through one of the most tragic and ironic disasters thus far known to man. I was not weak in any sense. Nor was I meek, quiet, or about to sit back and watch life pass before my eye.

But something had changed. More and more I began to feel the familiar pull of suicide tug on my tired body. I had already been suicidal twice in my short life, so the symptoms and feelings were nothing new to me. That night on the Titanic was not the first time I had attempted to kill myself; that had been months before when I swallowed a large amount of aspirin hoping it would do something, but all it did was make me ill for almost a week. The feelings attributed to those attempts were nothing compared to what I felt now. This time it ached in parts of my body and soul I didn't even know I had. No longer a simple plan to escape the restraints of society, I needed redemption from…something. I wasn't quite sure what. But I wanted to be free again, I wanted that feeling I had in Jack's arms that last night. I wanted every little bit of suffering and pain to go away.

What did I have to live for? Most of my world thought I was dead, the only person that would possibly miss me now was Katherine. I would be with my father again, and I wouldn't have to worry about a damn thing. And best of all, all the sleepless nights and struggles with people and the public would be eradicated. No more depression, no more resentment at waking up each morning to find the world unchanged. It would all be over.

But I was scared. I was scared of waking up in some cold, dark room, without my father, without any sense of direction…my own personal limbo. Was it not true that those who committed suicide went to hell? I had been taught this from the very beginning of my religious education. Would I end up in the bowels of some dark underworld simply because I could no longer bare the heavy burden pressing upon my shoulders?

I closed my eyes for some brief moment, trying to see the darkness. If you concentrate hard enough, you can almost see the black in front of you. But it mostly requires a lot of imagination and a little faith.

Did I have faith anymore? My entire world had collapsed in front of me, dragging everything and everyone I loved down with it. What could I believe in anymore? I had hardly believed in God before, now any notion of Him seemed ludicrous. What sort of merciful 'father' took innocent lives away when there were so many others who truly deserved to be taken off this Earth? I had no assurance in society, and what little faith I had in the protection of others had vanished. It was Man's invention that had faulted.

Maybe the problem was that it all seemed like a dream to me, even still when I had been exposed to the realities of life beyond _Titanic_. The final hours aboard that ship were hazy, confused, even a bizarre form of tortured when I thought of them. Like a movie, I simply watched as it played out in front of me. I felt like I had not been a part, that I had simply witnessed a great tragedy. I did not cry, I did not feel much of anything. I was dead inside.

And worst of all, I felt disconnected from the one person whom I had felt instantly attached too. Jack Dawson was just another player in the great _Titanic _play and I had somehow benefited from his performance. Yet something about his person still drew me to his memory. I hated to think of him, hated to imagine the possibilities of what could have been. And I hated not being able to connect with him again, to feel some sort of emotion for what had happened.

Was he really gone? Did he really die that cold April night…for me? The woman he had known for less then a week and had shared one meal with? Had he simply disappeared, just like that? Or was he really there somewhere, alive and well, and I had imagined his disappearance beneath the ocean.

Perhaps this is why I did not cry.

My thoughts began to scare me and I immediately cut them off. I knew what was real and what was not, right? There was no more to be pondered.

Listlessly, I rose from my position on the porch, focusing once again on the horizon before me. Now the skies were a light blue, a few stray pink and purple clouds reminding from the sunsets masterpiece. Night was finally falling upon my tired body.

I could hear Katherine tinkering around inside the house, trying to, no doubt, rearrange the bookshelves to make room from some additions she had received from the university. I didn't want to see her right now, I didn't want to face her latent wrath or whatever else may be lurking beneath her calm, collected demeanor.

I needed something, something beyond just a cigarette or drink. And so without a word I left. I simply walked down the front steps, down the walkway, and stepped out onto the sidewalk with no purpose or direction. I was a big girl, I could take care of myself if I really needed too.

Maybe.

The sidewalk led me to the end of the block. I paused there, next to the street sign, weighing my options. I could turn around and go back, back to Katherine, back to my little whole in the world, back to safety. I could turn right and go toward town, toward the big city, with all its possibilities. Or I could go straight. I didn't quite know what was straight. It looked like more houses. More people I didn't want to associate with. I hated happy, full families.

I turned right.

Eventually I ended up in front of the theater I had visited a few weeks earlier. A single light shown through the glass double-doors, calling to me with some unspoken beacon. I sat down on the cold stone steps and waited for a good half hour, watching as darkness fell over Chicago. I was not scared, not tired, just…numb. I couldn't feel anything around me but the cold. And even the sounds of normalcy faded into one relentless blur.

Subconsciously, I was hoping it was Danny. The poor boy was good company, if nothing else, and I felt guilty over how I had treated him.

It must have been fate when the light shut off suddenly and then I saw Danny come through the double doors. His collar was pulled up, shielding his neck, and his head was bent. I could see his flaming red hair peak out underneath his grey cap. He was wearing the same jacket he had on when we had taken that walk.

"Danny?" I whispered hoarsely, hoping he would not pass me by, as I rose from my seat.

He looked up, his eyes flashing with concern. "Rose!" he exclaimed, his demeanor changing to surprise. "What are you doing here? We've missed you."

"I just, I-" sighing, I took a few steps toward him. "I was just out for a walk and ended up here."

Danny smiled. "How you been?"

"Um, all right, not great," I answered, avoiding his gaze. "Ho-how about you?"

Shrugging, he nodded in a funny way. "I've been okay, not great," he mocked, breaking into another smile.

What was I doing? I didn't want his vodka anymore, alcohol wasn't going to help the situation. Was it…company? Or something more. I stared at the man, studying him intently. He wasn't unattractive, but he wasn't anything to sing about either. There was something about him that attracted me however. It wasn't any sort of physical thing, simply…something. Perhaps it was because he did not judge me, or that I felt strangely safe around him. Or maybe I was finally coming out of my shell.

No, the last could not be it. When I actually stopped to think, I realized what a big risk even being here was. And if I let myself go too much, that same fear of being discovered or told upon returned. Though I hated my life, I was scared to even think about returning to the old.

It was best not to think at all.

"So, ya wanna come grab a bite to eat with me?"

His voice reverberated through my head and I found myself actually toying with the idea. Perhaps a meal would not be the end of the world; if I forgot about what I was actually doing I might enjoy it. Then again, this was definitely outside the safe little bubble I had been living in for the past few months. Again, to much thinking.

"Um…" I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. His face looked so hopeful, so excited, and I didn't want to let him down by declining his invitation.

"Or, I could cook for you…if you're worried about it looking like a date or something. I mean, it would just be one friend cooking for another." He stumbled through the words quickly.

"Oh, Danny, I don't know," I immediately protested.

"Please," he begged softly.

"I-"

The next thing I knew he had moved even closer towards me and took me by the arm. With some swift motion, his lips were grazing across mine in a soft, yet imploring kiss. I could do nothing except stand in place, stunned into my position. When I did not protest, Danny must have seen it as an invitation because once again his lips found mine and he was kissing me, longer, harder this time. I found myself starting to return the favor, if only to convince myself that it was really happening. Everything I had been worrying about began to dissipate as I lost myself in what Danny had to offer. I needed him perhaps more then he wanted me. I need to feel alive, needed a physical connection with someone.

"All right," I breathed hoarsely when he finally released me. "I'll, I'll go with you."

I never saw Danny's kitchen, or most of his tiny apartment for that matter. I soon found myself on his bed however, with his body atop mine and our limbs intertwined. I tired very hard to keep myself from thinking too much about what I was doing, and simply tried to use pleasure as an escape. But it didn't work to well.

We had sex until late that evening. I use the term sex deliberately; what we did was not make love. I had made love before, I knew what it was and was not. Loving making was an entirely different experience. It made you arch your back, your knees shook, your entire body perspired, and there were times when you didn't know what was his and what was yours. You would thrash and scream and moan, and afterward, sometimes all you wanted to do was cry because you were so happy. But sex…sex was just skin and sticky sweat and it left you feeling almost irritated, rather then happy. And it was so impersonal; I had simply laid there while Danny moved around and did what he needed to do. He hardly kissed me, hardly did anything other then the basic, and it was over in a quick little while. For this I was glad. And instead of basking in the afterglow, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

But Danny wanted to cuddle and hold me afterward, and I let him for a while as I faced the other way and smoked a cigarette he had given me. It was dark, but with the small amount of light that shone through his window I could see around just fine. His bedroom was a typical bachelor pad; not much graced the walls and not only the room, but the entire apartment smelled vaguely of cheese. I wondered how many other girls he had brought up here lately, how many of them had laid where I was now.

"I've thought about you so much these last couple of weeks," Danny was confessing softly. "I couldn't get you out of my head."

"Hmm," I responded dimly, exhaling some smoke as I did so. I was beginning to feel unsafe again, like I was trapped. I needed to get back to my room, Katherine's house. I needed familiarity, or something was going to happen. I could feel it in my bones.

"I didn't think I would see you ever again," he continued, despite me apathy.

Without acknowledging him, I pushed his roaming hands away and slipped away from his body. The room was cold as I rose from the bed and made my way across the floor to the window. Outside, the lights of Chicago shone brilliantly, but I could not bring myself to see their beauty. I felt disgusted with myself and disappointed that the sex had not helped to clear my head or feel better. After making love to Jack, I had never felt more alive or more certain of who I was and what I wanted. But the physical connection I thought I had needed was not so. And now I just felt dirty and more confused.

I took another puff of the cigarette, holding it between my lips just a tad longer then usual. God these things must be bad for you. But I didn't care. I liked the feeling of familiarity they gave me. However, after a few minutes it ran out, as all cigarettes are bound to do, and so I snuffed it out on the windowsill, leaving the remains there.

"You're so amazing Rose," Danny continued. I could hear him shuffling about in the bed, making the sheets rustle and the mattress squeak. When I turned around to look at him, he was sitting up, leaning his head on his hand, and staring at me.

"Can I ask you something," he asked suddenly, as if he had just remembered something.

"Yes, of course," I mumbled softly, turning my gaze back to the window.

"How did you get the last name Dawson? I mean, is it your birth surname or did you marry someone with it? Cuz it ain't Irish."

_Neither am I, _I thought. Poor Danny, thinking he had a nice little Irish girl that he could introduce to his parents and they would be proud of.

"I married someone with the last name," I lied, not bothering to turn towards him. The words rolled off my tongue in a sort of a numb jumble of letters placed together.

"What happened?"

"He's back in New York, I'm here…" It was sort of true, in a twisted way.

Danny was quiet for a minute and I could hear him flop down on the bed again, sighing loudly. "You didn't tell me you were married," he mumbled sadly after a minute.

"It's not important, he's not really around much anyway." At least that much was true.

"What's his name?"

"Jack Dawson," I replied, closing my eyes for a moment and letting the name wash over me. It had been so long since I had spoken his name aloud. It almost made him alive again, and lying about it made me feel better. If I could fool Danny, maybe I could fool myself. I felt better imagining that Jack was alive and back in New York instead of…

But what was I doing? This wasn't right.

And I was not prepared for what happened next.

"I knew a kid named Jack Dawson, came through Quincy on his way out west."

I spun around so fast that I was sure there would be a fire beneath me if I looked down. "What?" I squeaked, my voice an octave higher then normal. Surely he could not be talking about the same Jack. It had to be a fairly common name.

"Sure, he stayed with my Aunt and Uncle for a few weeks, did some work for them and then split. Nice kid. Little young, I think he was fifteen or sixteen, but nice kid."

"What did he look like?" I found myself asking.

Danny sat up in bed again and gave me a tiny grin. "Taller, lanky, funny mop of blonde hair that he could never keep out of his face. But he had these blue eyes. They made you want to listen to him, or just be around him. And they made you trust him. Most honest person I've met, and he helped me build the best damn squirrel trap I ever had. I've always wondered what happened to him."

I stood staring at Danny for a long time, forgetting about my cigarette. Oh. My. God. I felt something inside me stir, way down in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to tell Danny. God, I couldn't even tell myself.

"He, ah, that sounds…ah… like…my Jack," I whispered softly. "Yeah, he's alive and well. I talk to him every night over the telephone. I think he's going to be coming to Chicago fairly soon. In fact…" I paused and surveyed the room, looking for my clothes. "…He should be calling any time now so I best be gone." I started frantically picking up any sort of article of fabric I could find, trying to discern between my things and Danny's. I quickly managed to get dressed well enough and then started for the door without another word to my bed partner. It was time to go.

He jumped up and blocked my exit, throwing himself against the door. "Don't go, we don't have to mention this to Jack," he protested. "Rose, please." He moved towards me in an attempt to persuade me to stay in various intimate ways. Staying crossed through my mind for one brief moment…but no. I couldn't.

I pushed him out of the way, threw open the door, and left him standing in the doorframe, a hurt and confused look across his face. I needed to get out of there before I did something else that was stupid and thoughtless. My heart began to race and my body sweat as I ran down the stairs. A hundred different images and phrases came suddenly into my head, scaring me as I began to see things I had tried to forget. They were no longer distorted or faint, now they were bold and freighting. Smells, sights, even sounds I had forgotten about invaded my mind. What was happening to me?

My shoes clicked loudly against the sidewalk as I walked quickly made my way away from Danny's apartment complex. Lying to him had almost convinced me that I was in fact beyond help. God, I wanted to get away from this all, away from myself. I hated myself. I hated me. I had never hated myself more. I wanted to be free again.

I screamed outloud and broke into a sprint. I had finally snapped. This was it. I had to get away from _something_. There was something inside of me that was building up and up and I felt like it was going to explode if I didn't do something. I wanted no more, I wanted freedom. And for the second time that day my mind turned toward suicide; my escape, my refuge, my ticket back to sanity. At the time, it seemed like the only option.

What had driven me here? Why was I suddenly right back where I had been that chilly night in April, when, like now, I had cracked? Then, it felt different though, an outward force had its hold on me. Now it was something deeper, something much more personal. I could feel it.

After what seemed like an entirety, I ended up down near the Chicago River, confused as to how to get home. In my peril I had gotten turned around and had ended up further from Katherine's then I had been at Danny's apartment.

A stone bridge loomed before me, illuminated by a lone streetlight casting its glow solitarily upon the structure. I remember being very cold, colder then I had been for the past few months, which is really saying something. And quiet, deathly quiet. Everyone was probably at home with their families, I remember thinking, which was an odd thought. I should be there.

But I walked forward anyway and as I approached the bridge, I felt my heart began to pump harder inside my chest. The rest of the world melted away and then my feet were on that stone, my shoes once again clicking loudly.

There was a rather high ledge and I drew near it with reverence. One little hop and I could jump in to that freezing cold water, hit my head on something on the bottom, and never be heard from again. Or maybe I would drown like Ophelia, simply hold myself underwater until I died.

Regardless of what would happen, I climbed up on the ledge, with some difficulty, and then stood atop, peering down at the black water. My mind had completely lost all sense of morality. I felt disgusted and also a bit relieved; maybe this would solve all my problems. As I leaned over more, I thought of nothing except that April night. It was almost the same, with the cold, the water, the feeling of despair. The wind was blowing through my hair, my breath irregular, just as it had been. And then, without thinking, I heard a familiar voice and whipped around, in my mind expecting to see _him_.

But there was only emptiness and the faint sound of wind.

He would not be there.

That's the moment it hit me. He wouldn't be there.

Because I… had killed him.

I killed him.

I had sat up on that board and let him freeze in that icy water. I had laid around and watched him turn different shades of blue. I had started him in on this whole business in the first place; if I had not been trying to commit suicide that night he might still be alive. And if we were truly meant to be together, we would have meet under different conditions.

Oh my God.

I felt myself suddenly get very weak and then started shaking violently. This was like a panic attack, expect worse. This time I couldn't shut off the images or hide whatever was making me uncomfortable. It reached me in places of my body that I didn't know I had, it started to hurt in every single inch of my soul. And I could feel myself about to lose it.

_Damn it Rose, do something_, I remember telling myself.

But there was nothing I could do now.

I had opened a door that could never be closed again.


	9. Chapter Eight

_Once again, I am terribly sorry. I really have no excuse._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Fumbling, I backed down from the ledge and then stood trembling on the stone bridge. My entire body felt like it was on fire, a drastic change from the cold that had become a normality. Ironically, I wanted to rip off my clothes and dive into something icy. But I just stood there, sweating, my heart beating erratically while one thought reverberated through my mind.

I killed Jack. He was dead because I had met him. And I couldn't bring him back. He was really dead.

It was the first time I had ever thought of him being really dead. I had always known it, but somehow I had chosen to ignore the fact that his soul no longer graced this earth. He would never again set a tangible foot on something solid. Never again would he make someone laugh, smile in his corky way. He would never get the chance to get married or share the joys and pains of raising children. His life would not continue through the years, whatever happiness and tribulation graced those times. He was just…gone.

I had stolen his life away from him in one night. I could have been the one to freeze to death in that cold water, but I selfishly chose to remain on that board. And while he loved life and knew the full possibilities of what it could offer, I knew nothing of living life the fullest or how to make my life my own. I just knew I didn't want to die. And like the pampered princess I was, I assumed that he would live too. He couldn't leave me, my life didn't work that way. I always got what I wanted.

But the moment I took off that ring and let Jack sketch me, my life changed forever. I had crossed that line. I didn't always get what I wanted anymore. And if that meant that my soul mate was taken away from me, then that's what it entailed.

I just foolishly assumed that we would be together for the rest of our lives. We had beaten Cal and my mother, in a sense, what else could harm us? We were Jack and Rose, together until the bitter end. It was always going to be he and I, for better or worse. But I had ended all of that by watching him freeze to death in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

I'd never felt more alone or helpless as I did that moment, sinking down to my knees and letting out a blood-chilling scream. My head was spinning, my body felt like it was going to be torn in a hundred different directions. I wanted so badly to wake up five months ago, before I met Jack. I could fix everything, make it better. I could replay the entire epic, change the ending, and make Jack switch places with me on that board. Than maybe he might be here with me now.

Frantically, I stood up again and looked around in a dizzy haze. I had to get out of here, I needed familiarity. So ran, as fast I could, in the direction of Katherine's house. With every click of my shoes I felt more pain invade my broken heart as it progressively became more overwhelming. Oh God! I couldn't do this, not right now.

I had killed Jack. I had killed my best friend. I had killed the only person who had ever understood me completely, and still wanted to be with me, because I was a selfish spoiled brat. I now was going to miss the chance to be his wife, to have his children…and simply grow old with him. I wanted nothing more. But it was gone now. And I could never get it back.

Somewhere between the bridge and Katherine's house it started raining. Sheets and sheets of water fell from the violent sky as thunder boomed and lightning illuminated the sky above me. I became soaked to the bone, but for some reason, I ignored the water. It was all too familiar: the cold, the water, the painful heartache that was overtaking my entire body and soul. Once again, I was back on that pier in New York. Only this time, I knew things I hadn't yet realized then. This time, I couldn't turn back, couldn't shield my heart from the ache. But, oh God it hurt. My heart began beating harder and harder the closer I got to Katherine's. If I wasn't careful, it was going to explode. There was a new feeling rising up in me as well. But I wasn't quite ready to accept it, not yet.

All the lights were on when I finally arrived home; Katherine's house looked like a Christmas tree. Numb and soaked to the bone, I trudged up the cold front steps, the same ones I had been contemplating suicide upon hours before, and then stood with my nose pressed against the door. Did I dare go in? It would be admitting to myself that it was real. I was really having a breakdown.

My brain answered for me and I subconsciously turned the doorknob. The sudden light blinded my eyes and I instinctively shied away.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god_…

My heart, now pounding harder deep in my chest, began to overwhelm me. A few more minutes of this and I would faint dead away right there in the entry way. My mind keep bombarding me with images I had locked away somehow. Once again, I saw Jack grinning at me for the first time, felt his warm breath on my body, and heard him utter his dying words. Somehow, I managed to forget all of these things until now.

"Katherine?" I called out weekly, shutting the door with a quiet thud. _God, where **was** she. I needed her so badly._ My voice reminded me of when I was searching for a way to unlock Jack from the pipe, scared, alone, hopeless, and frantic…all at once.

It could only have been seconds, but it felt like a lifetime before Katherine finally came running from upstairs. She took one look at me, and instantly knew what had happened. That's one of the reasons I really loved her; she knew me well enough to simply know what was wrong by being near me.

In one swift instant, her arms were wrapping around my body. I felt a tiny sense of relief that lasted by a minute before it was replaced by the same trembling paranoia that had overtaken me so completely. My heart was pounding through my body. I couldn't believe this was happening. It seemed like an evil dream.

"Rose, you have to let it go," Katherine whispered softly into my ear. "Accept what has happened and let the past go."

"I can't," I whispered back. "It hurts too much Katherine."

She squeezed me tightly, my body being crushed underneath her warm embrace. I felt her heart beat against my skin, her life invading my soul. In her own way, trying to break through my wall of shame and ache. I resisted her attempt at first, but I was tired. So very tired.

And then all at once I gave up completely. I gave in to every single emotion weighed on my heart and soul for months now. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor in a heart wrenching scream. Katherine came down with me and held me as I began to sob. It hurt so much, to realize and give in to the fact that he was _dead_. I had known it for months now, but I didn't really believe. The reality that he wouldn't be coming back to save me again had finally sunk it. It became as if I had heard for the first time that he was gone. I didn't know what to do with myself, my arms thrashed about, my legs moved back and forth in an attempt to stop the pain. I couldn't breathe properly, my chest began to heave up and down. My heart was beating wildly and yet felt like it was being ripped away from my body at the same time. Pressing my nails into my hands, I tore open the skin, brining eight different pools of blood to the service as my thumbs clenched down upon them.

"He can't be gone," I whispered over and over. But he was.

Katherine said nothing, just held me as my entire existence fell from around and beneath me. I became unaware of anything surrounding me, only my own heart wrenching reality. Why had I been so reluctant to believe the truth? Why had I pretended that he was not really gone? It was a sham, a stupid fantasy that I had created for some purpose.

"Why didn't I let it in, Katherine?" I sobbed, once again balling my fists.

My aunt smoothed my hair gently and I felt her shrug her shoulders. "I'm not sure Rose. Perhaps you did it to protect your heart."

"How is _this_ protecting my heart! I feel like it's literally on fire or breaking in a million pieces!" I wailed, unable to stop myself from lashing out. "I know why this happened! It's because it's my fault Katherine! It's my fault that he's dead!"

Katherine pushed me roughly away from her body and looked me squarely in the eyes. The jolt shocked me out of my hysterics and for a moment all my crying stopped. Through my hazy vision, I could see her blue-green eyes, a mirror of my own, glassing over in empathetic tears. My breathing still labored, I tired to calm down as she stared at me long and hard. I really needed to get a grip.

"Now listen," my aunt began softly, "none of this was your fault. You have to believe that. The ship didn't sink and Jack didn't die because of something you did. You may spend the rest of your life asking why? But that's all right. It's good to ask questions, even if you never find the answer. But you've got to remember that it was nothing you caused. All right?"

Once again I began to cry. I didn't deserve this. I had done nothing but mope around for the last five months and yet Katherine was treating me better than my own mother ever had. It gave me a tiny glimmer of happiness in my shattered world. But oh God, it still hurt. Every beat of my heart reminded me that I was alive, and he was not. Katherine gathered me into her embrace again and murmured soft words of encouragement. This went on for some time, Katherine and I on the floor, both of us crying, one softly, the other in total desperation. It came and went in phases. I would regain some calmness, than all at once an imagine, a word, or a simple thought would pop into my mind and I would lose control again. Over and over I built myself up for hurt. And over and over again I fell, each time crying out in total desperation. It was horrible, simply horrible.

I was losing my true innocence, right there in the entryway. Never again would I look at anything and take it for granted, never again would I be able to hear of death and not think of Jack. I was ruined, stained, my heart broken and tattered. I began to see clearly how cruel and adverse the world was. At seventeen, I was learning things that it took others a lifetime to completely realize. Our lives can completely change in a matter of moments. And there is nothing I could do to stop it. Not matter how much I loved someone.

Coming to this conclusion, my crying began to subside bit by bit until I was merely sniveling every few moments. Still a mess, but a vast improvement.

"You're going to be all right Rose, I promise. You _will_ make it through this."

"How long do you think it will take?" I asked mournfully.

"Oh Rose, I don't know." There was a slight pause as she allowed me to excruciatingly digest this information. "I know it isn't what you want to hear, but I doubt the pain will ever completely go away."

My eyes filled with tears once again. "It's not fair Katherine," I mumbled, trying to blink the water out of my eyes. "He never did anything to anyone, he loved life more than anyone I'd ever met."

"I know," Katherine said softly. "But life's not about being fair. You know that."

I did know that. I probably knew that better then anyone. My entire life had been that way. So nodding slowly, I picked myself up from the floor and shoot shakily to my feet. I was tired, I needed some rest. And more importantly, I needed some alone time. I needed to sort through some of my mess by myself. Katherine stood up beside me and put her arm around my shoulder.

"C'mon," she said gently, as if she knew what I needed, "lets get you upstairs and I'll bring you some lavender and chamomile tea to help you sleep."

Thankfully, I allowed her to lead me upstairs, my feet like heavy stones underneath my body.

_I was falling, down, down, down, past my childhood, past my mother, father, dead pets, old friends, and then more horrifically, Cal, Southampton, Titanic, my mirror, a pearl necklace, lifeboats and life jackets, an old dress, an iceberg, New York, Katherine, and then it was nothing, just blackness and an endless void. Then with a thud I hit something cold and solid. Strangely, I felt no pain and stood up quickly, anxious to see where I was. I remembered nothing of how I got here, or even where I was. There was only darkness around me, not even a glimmer of faint light. Frantically, I turned in a circle, confused and scared. Was I dead? Is this where the unfaithful went? Perhaps this was like one of those pools where you could not see the bottom and were thrown into as a child so that you might learn how to swim. Or maybe, more reasonably, I was going insane and this was a maze I had to get out of in order to regain my sanity. It certainly was confusing…and cold…and smelled vaguely of lavender and iron. A disgusting combination. _

_I took a step, and did not fall farther into the void. I was standing on something solid, I knew that much. Gingerly, I bent down and felt whatever was beneath me. It was cold, like steal but softer. An odd thing, certainly nothing I had ever seen before. I took another step, and than another, until I had walked a good fifteen feet or so. Nothing continued to happen. _

_And then all at once there was a burst of great light. I felt myself being drawn toward it as it engulfed me in its presence, and I all of the sudden felt warm and comfortable. It was a strange feeling. Maybe this is what those who die and then come back try to describe to the living. Oh God, was I really dead? How had this happened? _

_"Rose," the light said softly as soon as it had surrounded me completely._

_I knew that voice. And then his face appeared, followed soon after by his body. He seemed to be floating toward me but when he stood before me he stopped. He wore the same clothes I had last seen him in, although dry and clean. I was in awe of what was happening, as if it were God himself in front of me. _

_"Am I dead Jack?" I responded, surprisingly languid and calm. I had been waiting months for this moment, but all I felt now was a sense of peace. Neither of us made a move to touch the other, perhaps having the forbidding sense that if we did, it might make the other disappear. What an peculiar reaction; five months apart and this was how we treated each other. _

_He chuckled, sending a warm feeling throughout my entire body. "No, you're not dead."_

_"Than where am I?"_

_Jack grinned softly. "Now that, I cannot reveal."_

_"Even to me?"_

_"Even to you." _

_Odd, I mused. We must be in some strange purgatory-like state where the dead could communicate with the living without returning to Earth. It was an unusual experience thus far, although not entirely unwelcome. _

_"Why am I only seeing you now?" I asked softly. True, it had been months since we had parted. Maybe if this had occurred before I might have bypassed that whole disastrous scene that had happened earlier this evening. _

_"You wouldn't let me," Jack responded, much to my astonishment. _

_"I wouldn't?" _

_"Yes, you pretended I never existed and locked me out of your heart. Even I couldn't penetrate that lock. It's against The Rules. I tired Rosie, I did everything I could, short of asking for a miracle. But you're so damn stubborn."_

_Ashamed, I looked down at my feet. I **was** stubborn; my entire life I had been told that. A blessing and a curse, like so many aspects of my life. So it was my own fault then? "I'm sorry," I mumbled apologetically. _

_"You didn't know," said Jack gently. _

_Slowly, I looked up to face him again. I wanted so badly to reach out and brush his hair out of his face, hold his hand, do anything to make him seem more real. But once again I hesitated. What if he suddenly disappeared, how would I deal with that? For a few moments, I stared at him. He stared right back, as if daring me to make a move, as if he were scared to do anything himself. It made my knees weak and I began to feel dizzy; Jack's gaze had always done that to me._

_"Is there a Heaven, Jack?" I asked in an attempt to regain my stability. _

_He broke into a smile, but did not respond. _

_"A Hell? God? Anything?"_

_"You'll find out soon enough," was all he muttered. "And then you'll have an eternity to dwell on it."_

_This confused me. Did he mean I would die soon, or rather that when I did die the time I spent on Earth would be nothing compared to eternity. I supposed he wouldn't answer if I asked. The entire concept of Heaven and Hell blew my mind anyway. How could there be only two places where everyone who had ever walked the Earth now existed? It was a staggering question. _

_"Are you happy?" I asked instead, desperate for a good answer. For the sake of my sanity, I needed to know he was going to be alright. _

_"Yeah, I'm happy," Jack answered with a grin. "I miss you, but I'm happy. It's amazing, this entire experience."_

_"Death?"_

_He nodded slowly. "You have no idea how much is in store for you, Rose. Or even how much is in store for anything and everyone. I wish I could tell you the future, or of what I have been through. But it's a secret. Anyway, if I told you it would throw the entire course of history off. Imagine how many lives you could affect or what you could change knowing the future."_

_"I would change a lot," I answered, referring not to the future as he put it, but of the past. A shadow crossed Jack's face as he realized what I spoke of. I felt a familiar sting in my heart and my hands began to shake. Even **thinking** of it made me upset._

_"You can't change the past Rosie," he answered grimly. "As much as you or I would love it."_

_"I know," I mumbled, my eyes filling with tears once again. "I'm so sorry Jack, I didn't mean for you to die," I then whispered through chocked sobs. _

_Only now did he move to touch me. Relief poured through my body as his arms encircled my body and neither of us was whisked away suddenly. I cried heavily on his shoulder as he held me close to his comforting body. It was the first time I began to feel a bit of redemption as Jack began to whisper that he knew, he knew I didn't mean for him to die. For a long while we simply stood, engrossed in what could only be described as a dream within a dream. His presence felt so real, his skin so tangible, that several times I had to remind myself that he was dead, this couldn't possibly last. Five months of pain, sleepless nights, depression, and hurt began to melt away. _

_"You're going to be okay, I promise," he whispered, smoothing my hair over. _

_I pulled away, if only to simply reaffirm that he was here. His words seemed too prophetic, too good to be true. _

_"I promise," he echoed, squeezing my hand. A chill ran through my body; 'I promise.' Our own personal charter. Until now I had locked that promise deep away in the recesses of my heart. But now its meaning and hope were thrown back at me. He had given me life, I owed it to his legacy to make the best of it. _

_Slowly, for no words seemed to sum up what I felt inside my heart, I began to move toward him, hoping to once again feel the pressure of his mouth upon mine. But as I did so, he began to move away, as if on rollers, as the light around us faded gently. Whimpering, I quickly jerked away and desperately called out for him. _

_There was no response as he drew further away and the light diminished more. _

_"Jack, please don't leave!" I screamed, watching his form leave just as he had arrived. _

_And then I was alone, once again finding myself in dead silence and black darkness. Falling to my knees, I began to cry. I wanted him back. Today had been hard enough, and now he was leaving me again on top of everything else. This was all too much. I screamed and threw myself down on the floor, twisting around in the same matter I had in the front entryway. Was there to be no end to this heart wrenching grief?_

_Suddenly, I began to fall, as if someone beneath me had pulled a string attached to my back. I tried to kick and squirm free, but my legs were bound by some sort of opposing force. I shut my eyes and cried out once again as I began to fall faster and faster, until I hit what felt like water with a driving force. I heard the splash, but instead of rising above, I began to sink beneath the surface. I was drowning, but as I opened up my mouth to yell for help, my lunges filled with salty water. I felt a sharpness in my hands but as I tired to hold them, one within another, I felt them began to deteriorate. It was as if the water was an acid and eating my skin alive. I could smell the salt of the sea and the iron of my blood. I screamed again, this time, blood spewing out my mouth. And then I was sinking deeper and deeper, unable to stop myself from being carried away by an unseen force…_

I awoke with a jump, gasping for air and stability. The first thing I noticed was the abundance of light in my room; I must have fallen asleep with the lamp on. Secondly, I was aware of the erratic beating of my heart. Still breathing funny, my hand flew to my chest as I tired to calm myself down.

Was it all just a dream? It had felt too real to be such a fantasy. But it must have been, I was still in my bed. Oh, could a dream really reach across time and space to affect me as this did? When Jack touched me I could literally feel my skin warm at that spot. Even now, I could imagine his hand upon my own, and it made my body tingle just to think of it.

Groaning in frustration, I tried to move but found my legs wrapped tightly by the sheet. Apparently, my slumber had not been still as well as uninterrupted. As I glanced around, I saw that pillows and extra blankets were also tossed about. And my comforter was half on the bed, half hanging off the side. I threw the top layer of coverings off and then reached down to untangle my legs. Slowly and deliberately, I peeled away the layers of fabric, as if peeling away the last few months of my life. The smell of lavender filled the room, and from outside I could hear the occasional car or shout. But it all seemed to melt away as those sheets unwound from my body. Then, all at once, it all was too much and I burst into tears. How was it that I was here, able to do something as simple as untangle a sheet, when Jack could no longer walk this Earth?

How long would this last? The crying, the pain, the incurable longing in my heart…they couldn't possibly go on forever. Right? Oh God, it was hard enough, trying to simply get by without him here. But it was the longing that would probably kill me if I didn't find some way to control it. I had to learn to get on with my life without Jack. But it was so painful. And I could find no way to quell my suffering. Sobbing, I turned out the light and wrapped the covers around my body, cocoon like.

I cried myself to sleep again that night. The darkness and the warm blankets did their best to hold me, but they were lacking. I was missing the one thing I wanted most to keep me warm.

You can't change the past. For so long I clung to the notion that if I pushed it all aside for long enough, it would all go away. If I pretended it wasn't real, that Jack was simply gone away for a while, it allowed me to think that his death was all make believe. I would surely wake up one morning with him beside me. I didn't want to think about him two miles beneath the ocean or the fact that I was the reason he was dead. I had locked it up for so long that the fantasy became real and by then I had slipped farther away from the truth. And it took almost losing everything for the reality to catch up with me. I was alone, the one who had survived.

And there was nothing I could do about it. Except live.

* * *

**_Love it? Hate it? Please let me know!_**


	10. Chapter Nine

Second to last chapter… the final epilogue sort of thing should be up in the next few weeks, and the very latest by the end of August. I will be heading off to school next month, so I am determined to wrap this up before then. Like always, I don't catch every mistake and what not. Meh. It's not a world famous novel. Anyway, enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think. 

**Chapter Nine**

_Just Before Christmas, 1912._

The year was almost over, finally. I could safely conclude that the past twelve months had been both the very best and the very worst of my entire life. Actually, no, that is inaccurate. There were maybe three or four days out of those twelve long months that were really and truly "good". The rest I would have traded in a moment for a chance to start over and do it all again. Or maybe just for a good book and a hot bath. Yes, I would trade away six months of my life for a good relaxing time. How sad, and what a pathetic notion.

I was sitting upstairs in my cold bedroom staring out the window to a much colder outside. Snow had begun falling several hours before, and now the entire street was covered in a soft white blanket. Ah, to be a child one again and delight in snow and all its promises: sledding, hot chocolate, the possibility of canceling events like parties and school. Now all snow promised was cold, wet clothing, and general chaos as people tried to get to and from their various destinations. All three of which I could quite happily do without, especially the latter two. Too many bad memories were brought about by damp dresses and confusion.

Not that the current snow had hindered any attempt by anyone to come to Katherine's annual, and somewhat famous, holiday party. From downstairs a loud conglomeration of voices floated up the stairwell, came down the hall, and penetrated the heavy door I had shut for the very purpose of keeping those voices quiet. Eventually someone would discover I was here and I would return to the festivities. Very likely this person would be Katherine, who constantly checked on my whereabouts since my tiny breakdown.

September had been the starting over point in my life. It should have been April, and if I were at all smart, wise, grownup, or any of the other things I pretended to be, I would have realized this fact then and saved myself five long months. But I was Rose, and unfortunately, I was stubborn above all things.

But no matter. Those days were past, and the best I could do was learn from them. Although, what I really wanted to do was forget the entire fiasco had ever occurred. Moving on was proving to be a lot harder then I had first presumed. And in fact, I wasn't completely sure I was "moving on" yet. Something still didn't seem right. What exactly did it mean to be "moving on?" Was I supposed to wake up fine one morning? Was I supposed to be able to think of him and not have my entire body heave in pain? Or was it more than that?

I was certainly not doing as well as I had hoped to be doing by now. Every once in a while the whole thing would hit me all over again and I would wind up crying somewhere. The other day I had been brushing my teeth for God's sake and I ended up with tears in my eyes just because the gravity hit me for no reason. Jack would never again brush his teeth, and I complained about having to do so when I should be lucky for the chance at all. It was stupid and I felt ridiculous afterward. Likewise, no matter how I tried to shake it, a dark cloud of grief and pain was always there. If only I could get rid of it, make the sun come out again. Then maybe I could "move on."

At least I could sleep again at night. And hardly ever did I experience the sort of dream-like plane of existence I had visited that first night after The Breakdown. It was strange; in those dreams I felt and behaved more like myself than I had in months. I almost liked myself better when I was unconscious. Maybe it was an indication of what I should aspire to be.

I could carry on a normal conversation with people again as well. I was no longer paranoid of leaving the house in daylight in the fear of being discovered. Or worse, of being afraid of discovering myself. However, I did not return to theater class, for reasons that should be obvious and will remain unmentioned.

I also had a job, surprisingly, for I figured no one would ever hire me. I worked three days a week at an accountant's office downtown, mainly answering phones and taking down names. But it was a start, and a good one at that. Forty percent of what I made I put into a little box I kept underneath my bed, and the other 60 I divided up, giving half to Katherine every paycheck for my room and bored. She told me over and over that I need not pay her, that she enjoyed having me here, but I insisted. She had helped me more than I could ever repay.

Sure enough, just as I expected, a knock soon came on my bedroom door, and Katherine's voice drifted through the heavy wood.

"Rose, I think you should come down here, please."

She sounded a bit like my mother, making me cringe. I already felt guilty enough thinking about how dreadful this holiday season must be on my mother, as much as a disliked her. I certainly didn't need to be reminded of her just now.

"I'll be right there Katherine."

I'd always disliked parties, and in fact the only one I truly enjoyed myself at was now a painful reminder of the past. If only I could relive those few hours I had spent in Jack's arms, whirling around in dizzy circles as my world faded away slowly. Knowing what I do now, I would not have returned back to my room that night, I would have left Cal and my Mother and started my new life. But one cannot tell the future. And so my folly remains.

I really needed to stop dwelling on the "what if's" in my life. Honestly, if I took the time I spent thinking about the past and put it to good use I might have accomplished something amazing by now. And besides, wasn't all this what Jack had tried to get me to realize? That the past is past, and the future is uncertain. I can feel grief and joy for the past, and I can look forward and dream of the future. But I mustn't dwell in either.

Sighing, I crossed the floor to the door, my high heel shoes clicking nosily against the wood. Cautiously, I opened the door and stuck out my head. The hallway was empty, but the many voices from below still floated upstairs. Quietly, I left the room and closed the door behind me. As I made my way toward the staircase, I passed by a mirror hanging on the wall. Quickly, I checked my appearance, wanting to make sure I did not miss anything earlier when I put my hair up and put on some makeup. I couldn't help but be a little proud of the way I looked. My hair had grown out a little, and now looked less like a mad woman had chopped it off in a rage. And I was finally beginning to fill out again, slowly returning to my old figure, not a skinny shadow of who I once was. Tucking a stray tendril behind my hair, I reassuringly made my way downstairs into the hoards of what I feared would be only doctors, lawyers, and their spouses.

As it turned out, Katherine had enough sense to invite some people that I could have a conversation with as well, without it turning into a discussion on the Supreme Court or medicines. Before long, I found myself actually talking with a few nice individuals. Most were older than I, but not by much in most cases, and lead interesting lives. One man had spent several years as an actual cowboy down in Texas before moving up to Chicago to go to college. He knew Aunt Katherine through his fiancée, who was a patient of hers a couple of years ago. And another man, who knew Katherine from school, had just gotten back from spending five years in Washington State as a fish monger. I didn't really quite understand the how buying and selling fish could make money, but the man was funny and interesting, and his stories made me laugh.

It all made my own life seem mundane and pointless, and very soon I found myself tired of simply responding that I was "from out of town" and that I had come from a "normal background." Without revealing who I truly was or what I had experienced, I really had nothing to tell, nothing to share. It was a sobering thought, and for a moment I stood there dumbstruck while others talked around me. Quickly, I excused myself from the conversation, grabbed a glass of wine, and wandered outside. I needed a cigarette badly.

The snow had ceases from falling, and the air was crisp and cool as I took a seat on wooden step just outside our back door. The sky had cleared momentarily, and the familiar smell that snow brings filled my nostrils. I had grabbed a packet of cigarettes from a drawer in the kitchen on my way out, and quickly lit one up, lighting the match against the stair and then throwing the match to burn out in the snow. I would get the garbage in a little while; right now I just wanted to think.

Where on Earth was my life headed? It was a pretty horrifying thought to know that your life literally had no real story, unless you wanted to divulge secrets about yourself that were damning. Rose DeWitt Bukator had a very interesting tale, but Rose Dawson on the other hand needed a bit of work done on her biography. There was nothing I could tell people about myself; _I_ didn't even have all the details worked out! When people asked about my family, I would stammer and back away, or reply they were all dead. I had no interesting stories, no background, and no social life. I needed to get out and _be_ someone.

Perhaps all this was part of my "moving on" that seemed so far out of reach. Simply going to work and coming back home to Katherine every night was certainly stifling and there really was no room for growth. But in truth I was scared. I still needed Katherine, needed her guidance, needed her warmth, her friendship. Could I just go out and make a life for myself?

Ugh, this was all too much for me right now. It was almost Christmas for God's sake. Sighing, I leaned down and stuck the end of my cigarette in the fresh snow, listening with unexpected joy as it sizzled as it extinguished. Wrapping my arms around myself, I stared up at the sky for a long moment. _Oh Jack, tell me what to do!_

"Your neck is going to be mighty sore if you keep it like that much longer."

Startled, I whipped around to see a man standing in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest and a smug expression across his face. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him, especially in the dim light. He started chuckling and came towards me.

"I thought I would be the only one out here, looks like I was wrong."

"I just needed a breath of fresh air," I responded, watching curiously as he sat down next to me on the stair. For a minute I studied him, now that I could see his face a little better. I'd never met him before, yet I had the strange feeling that I knew him from someplace. His curly dark hair was mused in a way that made it seem like he didn't really care what it looked like, and his deep set brown eyes seemed kind and gentle. Ahh, I knew who he was.

"You must be Calvert's brother," I said before he could start talking.

He broke into a cute grin, "The one and only Nicholas Calvert." For a moment he stared at me, in a very powerless type of way; it was so unlike Jack's piercing gaze, a reassuring characteristic for sure. His gaze held me in a different way from Jack's. "And you must be the infamous Rose Dawson- I could tell from the hair. And your evasive stature here."

I blushed, recalling how I had treated his brother the first time we had met. No doubt the reporter's comments about me had been less than flattering. Yet here Nicholas was, smiling at me and attempting a conversation. "Most people would call this stature rude Mr. Calvert, not evasive," I replied, trying to compose myself.

Nicholas shrugged, "I can forgive you. And it's Nicholas, Mr. Calvert is my father. A lot of people didn't like him; I'd rather not have his namesake."

"Didn't?" I asked without thinking.

"He died a couple of years ago."

A wave of sympathy rushed over me, I knew what it was like to lose a father. "I'm sorry," I replied solemnly, looking down at the wooden steps below me.

"You didn't do anything," Nicholas answered nonchalantly. "If anything, it was a blessing he died; the family gets along now."

I couldn't help but smile as I got the courage to look at him again. He was grinning at me in a coy sort of way, one side of his mouth creeping up while the other stayed neutral. It was cute in a little boy sort of way and it made me feel a little bit more comfortable. He sat relaxed with his feet outstretched in front of him and his arms folded loosely across his chest. There was _something _about his demeanor that made me feel familiar. It was peculiar, but nonetheless welcome. It had been a long time since I possessed that kind of connection with anyone.

"What is that you're drinking?"

His question startled me out of my stupor, and it took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. Gently, I picked up the wine glass at my side and held it up to the lamp overhead. The light played with the burgundy, making the light dance in little swirl patterns. "I think it's a merlot," I answered finally, bringing the glass down to my lips and taking a tiny sip. "I just poured whatever red wine I could find."

Nicholas chucked and then took the glass from me, holding it up in similar fashion as I and studying it closely as it swirled in rhythm to his hand. "Good color," he pronounced, "excellent clarity."

"You know wine." I was impressed.

He scoffed at my statement. "Hardly my dear," he answered as he handed me my glass. "I just like to pretend I do to start conversations. Usually people will change the topic because they know nothing about it and then I won't have to be stuck with coming up with something interesting that will engage everyone."

"What happens if you get someone who knows a lot about wine then?"

Nicholas shrugged, "I run like hell."

It wasn't that funny, but I began laughing softly. His entire presence was very mysterious; I couldn't tell if he was being serious or just pulling my leg. But it was entertaining at the very least. I needed that. Connections, comical relief, they both were part of keeping me from slipping back. Well, they and the fact that I was no longer stupid enough to do such a thing. Never again would I allow myself to be so closed off from my world around me. And it felt good to be part of normality once again.

"So what is it you do Nicholas?" I asked after another long moment passed.

"Well, when I am not being told by my mother and brother that I wasting my life away, I like to build furniture. It's hard work," he went on, just as I was thinking about exactly how exhausting that truly was, "but it's a living. And I like what I do, which is more important than the money I think. At the end of the day I have something practical that I can sell or use. Elliot just has his words."

He was so honest, so open to sit here and tell me anything I wanted to know. And he didn't even really know me. "Words aren't all bad."

"No," he agreed. "But they're not me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy reading and all that, but if I had to sit in an office somewhere and listen to someone tell me what to write, or worse, what I couldn't write, then I think I would go a little bit insane. The way I see it, there's no creativity in it that way. It's different when you have a couple of pieces of wood and you can mold them into anything you want. You can add claws on the bottom if that's what you feel like, or a little loopy design on the top of a chair. And if people don't like it, well then they don't have to buy it."

I smiled softly. "I'd like to see some of your work sometime."

He turned toward me and chuckled a bit. "You're the first girl I've met that's said that."

"Well, I mean it," I said, my cheeks coloring. That God it was night, otherwise he might see how embarrassed I was.

There was a long awkward silence during which time I could practically hear the snow clouds begin to move in once again as another storm gathered above us. Inside the house, the party was even quiet, as if it could sense the fragile moment. I was trying hard to come up with another engaging topic, but my mind was failing me. Everything I had learned in school about polite conversation was slipping out of my mind faster than anything. It just didn't matter anymore.

"What do _you_ do than Miss Rose?"

His question took me aback. Do? I worked in an accountant's office for God's sake. I didn't have a passion or talent like he did. I didn't _do_ anything, except look at numbers and take down messages. "I work in an office."

"Do you enjoy it?" he asked, sliding by the fact that it was not a great, creative career choice.

I shrugged. "It's all right. It's a job I suppose," I answered, drowning the last of my wine quickly.

"Why don't you find something you like?" His question was direct, and blunt.

"I do, I do like it," I stammered.

He stared at me for a long moment, finally breaking down into a little chuckle, "Alright then."

That was it? He didn't press on for more details, didn't demand that I tell him more? He was content with a vague answer? I couldn't help staring at him, trying with every once of me to figure out this man. He was so different from anyone I'd ever known. Jack would be contradicting my statements and making me tell the truth, or else catch me in a position where he knew he had me in a corner. Yet Nicholas seemed to do the opposite. He was somewhat quiet and passive, yet he was not afraid as I was to open up to people, share who he really was. Perhaps that was my problem now. _Oh, not this again Rose! _I had analyzed my life enough for one night.

"It's not what I would ideally be doing," I confessed after a moment. "But I'm afraid I'm not much good at anything practical."

"What do you mean?" he asked, cocking his head quizzically to one side.

"I wasn't raised with any skills that would be considered in a practical, ideal job," I found myself telling him without a moments notice. It was so easy to talk to him! I felt as if he would not judge or chastise me. For the first time in months I opened up to a little of my old life, so very differently than earlier that evening. "I can set a table properly, but I'm afraid I can't cook anything to put upon it. I know what a pressed shirt looks like, yet I can't do it myself. I would most likely burn a hole in the linen."

"Those sound like homemaking skills to me," Nicholas pointed out softly.

"Yes, but it's everything," I answered. "My entire life is like that. So this office job may not be the best or the most fulfilling right now, but I have to start somewhere, and I really am learning. I'm years behind everyone else in that sense."

"How old are you?"

"I'll be eighteen in March," I answered, a bit taken aback by his question

Nicholas shrugged. "Eh, it's not _that_ late," he said, laughing a bit. "At least you've got the right idea. I take it you didn't go to college then?"

Shaking my head, I scowled, "No, it wasn't allowed."

"Yeah me either," Nicholas answered.

"You weren't allowed?" I wondered out loud, mainly to myself.

Nicholas started laughing again. "In a matter of speaking; all three universities I applied to didn't _allow_ me to attend."

I made a sound that was halfway between and groan and a growl and hit him lightly on the arm. I hated to admit, but the pathetic attempt at the joke actually gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I broke into a grin and started shaking my head in whatever it was I was feeling. He started laughing harder and after a few moments the look of pure happiness on his face made me chuckle as well.

"I like it when you laugh," he said after another moment or two. The way he said it made the complement seem very non-suggestive, and once again his behavior made me smile. It felt good to be admired and liked by another person once again, without the aide of alcohol or sex. Still grinning at him, I reached down and picked up my packet of cigarettes, first lighting one for myself and then offering one to Nicholas, who shook his head.

"You smoke Dawson?" he asked in a surprised voice.

"Only when I drink Calvert," I retorted in a flirty manner, gesturing to the empty wine glass on the other side of me. The answer must have caught him by surprise because he started chuckling once again. We sat there in contempt for a few moments, watching the gathering storm. It felt nice, serine, and familiar. If I wasn't careful this could turn into something I really wasn't ready for right now. Maybe what happened next was a blessing in disguise.

"You remind me of someone," he asserted suddenly, wiping the smile away from my face immediately. _Uh oh._ A shadow of thought clouded his eyes and for a moment he seemed lost. Then he tipped his head to one side again and said, "You know who you look like?"

"Don't say it," I pleaded aggressively, holding my index finger up to his warm lips.

"You've heard it before?"

I flicked my cigarette into the snow. _If only you knew._ "A couple of times."

"Does it make you scared?" he asked.

I thought about that. Was I scared of the name itself? Or just afraid to heard the truth. "Just uncomfortable," I whispered.

From inside a call name for Nicholas and a moment later his brother Elliot stuck his head out the door, announcing that he was leaving in two minutesbefore disappearing back inside the house. Nicholas sighed and turned towards me with a funny smile.

"Better be going, he's my ride home," he said, starting to stand. "Sorry about the…ah…thing."

I peered up at him and with a sad smile told him not to worry about it.

"It would make me uncomfortable if I looked like a dead girl too. It's just a little odd that you have the same first name. And that the girl's aunt is sitting right inside the kitchen here with my brother."

My expression must have changed to shocked, although I didn't feel anything because I had begun to go numb, partially from the cold and the pure panic that was coursing through my body. Nicholas shrugged again and said, "It's not that hard to figure out Katherine is from _that_ DeWitt Bukator family; my brother's a reporter and, well, frankly, it's a damn uncommon last name. But I guess it's all just a coincidence right?"

I nodded dazedly. Did he know, or was it just conjecture?

"Oh well, I guess I'll see you around Rose _Dawson_," he said and with a couple of steps and a slam of the door he was gone.

I stared at the back yard as snow once again began cascading down from the sky. A feeling of serenity began to overtake the panic that had been building up like a toxin inside my body. In the back of my conscience I felt as if I could trust Nicholas. He hadn't been accusing or pushy about any of it, he had simply subtly let me know that he had a pretty good idea of just what I was hiding. Sneaky little cheat. I bet the entire time we had been talking he had been thinking it over in his head. For a brief moment I had a glimpse of him and Elliot pouring over newspaper clippings laid out on at table, an evil and sinister plot forming between them. But in my heart I knew this was just my overactive imagination at work. Surely Elliot would have said something to Katherine if he suspected anything. And Katherine in turn would tell me his musings.

I was extremely proud of myself; I had, despite a slight bought of panic, remained calm and collected. I did not hunch up, lie, shy away, or freak out as I might have done a couple of months ago. I acted more like True Rose, with a strong head on my shoulders and smart, careful replies.

Perhaps this was part of the elusive "moving on."

As I stood to go inside, the snow beginning to blow sideways from a sudden gust of wind, I looked up toward the sky that was blocked by an overhang. I kissed the air, my head still turned upward, and put my hand on my heart. I felt a sudden peace, and I knew he was there.

I would be alright.

For Christmas that year Katherine gave me, among other things, a ticket to anywhere in the country. It simply had to be taken to the train station, cashed in, and used within one year of the stamped date in the upper right hand corner. For over a month I deliberated on where on Earth to go, and how long to wait to do so. I was just beginning to get comfortable in my little lifestyle. And the thought of leaving Katherine was a bit vexing.

But in late February I marched down to the station and traded in my little certificate for a ticket to Monterey, California. It was now or never, and frankly, and Monterey seemed like the perfect place; anywhere else seemed like a waste, Jack had seemed to like it there, and Santa Monica was just a little too overwhelming for my mind and heart to handle. It had hadn't even been a year for God's sake.

I put what little money I had saved into a bank account that could be accessed from California and with ten bucks and a suitcase, I said goodbye to Katherine that next Saturday morning. She hugged me tightly and with tears in her eyes told me to write. She told me how proud I made her, and how she would definitely miss me. And then she pulled me close and whispered that she had always thought of herself has the strongest DeWitt Bukator, but really it was me and that I had survived- with grace- something a million other people couldn't overcome. By the time I left it was I who was crying as I waved goodbye.

As the train began to pull away from the station that morning I found myself giddy with a mixture of excitement and fear. This was really it, I was beginning my life. I had been trapped in the past for far too long. It was time to live in the present and look forward to the future. Rose DeWitt Bukator was being left behind, and in her place was a strong, confidant, wise, weathered but alive, Rose Dawson. Rain began to fall as we left Chicago but I just laughed as I looked outside. It was as if the dark cloud that had been relentlessly following me was finally beginning to shed its burden. _Bring it on_, I thought lightheartedly, _bring on the rain._

I was free.

_I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't_

_Ihad to lose everything to find out _

_Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road _

_I'm moving on…_

_-"I'm Movin' On"- Rascal Flatts, song from which the story takes its title_


	11. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

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California was everything I wanted it to be. The Monterey sunshine welcomed me that February morning as I stepped off the train, and despite the fact that it was not as warm as I anticipated, I felt a rush of excitement and pride. I was there, I had made it, and I had survived. My entire life was outstretched before me like a canvas, just waiting for me to stroke my paintbrush over it. It was a glorious feeling.

I got a job as quickly as I could and set up a little home for myself. It was in those few years from when I first arrived to when the First World War started that I truly found myself. It was difficult at first. Without the security of Katherine I felt less comfortable than I had at home. Nightmares frequently haunted my dreams with a fervent reality that woke me in cold sweats, freezing in my own bed. It was as if I were starting over from the beginning once again, as I learned to cook and care for myself. There was no one to run to in the middle of the nights, no one to calm my irrational fears and wonderings. Every day I had to remind myself to get up and do something new, live for the moment, as if it would be all over the next day. Month after month, it began to get a little easier however. I wouldn't let myself slip back into the abyss of hurt and denial. In all of this, I really discovered that deep fire Jack had seen, and returned to my true self. I no longer worried about being found or discovered, instead embraced my clean slate and used it as an excuse for a whole new life. As far as anyone knew, my parents were dead, my sister (also known as Katherine) lived in Chicago, and I was a normal woman hell bent on making it on my own. I wasn't stupid, I knew people whispered behind my back; that I looked like someone they knew, or that I had a touch to much of refinery to be just another working class citizen. But I ignored their questioning, and kept to my story.

Birth certificates, as I came to realize, were few and far between when I was born, especially in the lower classes, so it made it easy to lie and say that I never had one when it came to job issues, signing up for the war, or getting a marriage license. I'd had a birth certificate once of course, however now there was surely a death certificate attached as well, and I'd rather not go through the trouble of explaining that to anyone. Ambiguity became an easy thing to master.

I lived in Monterey peacefully until the war began, and rather than sitting around doing nothing, I joined early spring of 1918. Luckily, as I had no training as a nurse and was mercifully spared from the horrors of combat, I was placed in a training camp in California. I became nothing more than a typist and file keeper, but it felt good to be helping out in any way that I could. It was in those camps I met and got to know many good friends of mine. Most made it out of the experience relatively sane and normal and remain my friends to this day, but a few never made it back from France. Although I didn't have a son or husband who went, I was not spared the heartache of war. And losing friends brought the reality of it home for me.

After the war, I returned to my home in Monterey but found the life sullen and dying. Rather than becoming trapped into that existence, I immediately packed my things up yet again and moved to Los Angeles, wanting to join the ever growing movie business, as was my childhood dream. Being so close to Santa Monica constantly began to take its toll on my heart, and finally in 1920, exactly eight years after talking about it with Jack, I went to his beloved city. I didn't know what I expected to find when I arrived, ghosts from the past maybe, a city that would stop in its tracks because Rose Dawson was finally there. But nobody knew me, nor knew Jack as I came to realize, and it became my private pilgrimage. Painful and religious at the same time, I managed to do everything he and I had dreamed up that afternoon. To this day my favorite photograph remains the one of me upon a horse, with one leg on each side, right in the surf. Behind my façade-like smile I know what I am hiding, so when people stop and admire how happy I look, I just nod. My eyes betray me I think; they are a mixture of confusion and joy, tears and happiness.

But it was good for me; I managed to shrug off the last of my melancholy existence. I still loved Jack and not a day passed when I wished he wasn't there with me. I longed to hear his voice and feel his touch, and wanted so badly to just sit a while with him. But I knew he was watching, and that alone gave me strength. I thought of him in joy and happiness for the first time in eight years, without a heavy feeling in my heart. And that alone made the trip worth it.

I then worked as an actress for a couple of years, but when it became obvious that I was not meant to be a starlet or even a little famous, I packed that in and moved back to Chicago for a few months, just while I decided what I do. It was during that trip that the world got word that my mother had died and two days later Katherine got a notice in the mail of a funeral. She seemed amused at the fact that she had even been remembered, let alone invited to such an occasion, and simply shrugged off the invite with a tiny sad smile. Instead, it was I who traveled to Philadelphia a day later, horrified to be returning to the place that still made up my nightmares. I was scared of how I might act if anyone realized who I was, and yet strangely assured that nothing would happen. Cal had long since married, and would rather save face than do anything to harm me.

I arrived just in time for mother's funeral, and quickly slipped into the back of the less-than-crowded, freezing church. I did not cry, but sat there in a numb silence throughout the ordeal. Laying the casket at the front of the church was the woman who had given birth to me, and yet I felt no remorse for her death. I only felt a bit hurt that it ever came to me faking my own death just to get away from her. Honestly, I would have much rather her know I was alive, but it simply wouldn't have worked that way. I remember sitting there, trying not to be amused, as I imagined the look on her face as she arrived at the pearly gates and found my father and not me. Oh, she was going to have some choice words for me when I got up there. I rather hope Jack had been there when she arrived at the pearly gates as well, smiling cheekily at her, as if to say, "She got away with it!"

On my way back to Chicago I felt a little less burdened. At least Mother knew now; definitely a weight lifted off my shoulders. And I didn't even have to tell her face to face like I had dreaded someday doing. I never cried once for her; Ruth DeWitt Bukator had been lost to me for some time. I loved her, but I had never liked her much. And that simply made it easier to put it all behind me, and in the end I was glad I went. The trip would prove far more important than I could have imagined anyway.

It was on that train that I, yet again, met Nicholas Calvert. He had been in Philadelphia on business, and just happened to be seated near me. It seemed our lives really were destined to be brought together. With my life my own and my sanity fairly back to normal, we were able to pick up the pieces of the puzzle that was begun that night in 1912. I had dated a few times in-between moving to California and the recent trip to Philadelphia, but all ended quickly and poorly. I realized, meeting Nicholas again, that he had been the answer to my relationship problems. For although I had a problem with intimacy when it came to other men, it seemed natural to be open and affectionate with Nick. It only took a year and a half for us to become engaged, and we were married eight months later, in June of 1923, in a beautiful ceremony in his hometown of Cedar Rapids. By this time he owned his own furniture store, and I early jumped on board to help him. We made a fine pair and our little business would eventually do very well for itself.

I truly loved Nicholas, and did my part to be the best wife to him as I possibly could. I supported him just as he supported me. And never once did I regret my decision to marry him. We had a special bond, and deep in the back of my mind I knew he was the only person on Earth I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. But somehow, despite these things, I never did fit as well snuggled against him as I did Jack. Nor did he make me smile and laugh the same way Jack had. Perhaps that part of me was permanently broken. Or maybe he was simply the man I was supposed to spend my Earth-time with, not eternity.

Nicholas never again brought up the issue of my hidden past. Whether he deemed it unlikely, or knew the truth and realized my sensitivity to the subject, I will never know. I was open and honest with Nicholas about everything except the first seventeen years of my life. He never even knew Katherine was my aunt. And I never felt guilty for keeping that part of my life hidden. Somehow it just became easier and even routine to simply lie when it came to those sorts of things.

Nick did however give me the best gift of all- my two sons. Mark was born in October of 1925 and was most definitely his father's son. Their looks and characteristics mirrored one another, so much so that Nicholas's mother once told me that if she didn't know any better, she would swear Mark was Nicholas as a child. He was sweet, funny, well-behaved, and we enjoyed him so much that we decided very quickly to have another. Our second child, William, who was born in 1927, was very different. From the very beginning he was a handful, crying insatiably until the day he learned to crawl. The only physical characteristic he inherited from his father was his hair, the rest, right down to the ivory skin, he got from me. He was daring, restless, and while he was nice and charming, he definitely had a wild streak. Between the two of them, I had my hands full. Nicholas would spend all day at the shop, which was in town, while I chased around two boys until they went down for afternoon naps. Nick and I considered having another baby- I badly wanted a little girl- but just before we were going to begin trying, the stock market crashed and we decided it would be for the best not to bring another Calvert into the situation.

Cal's suicide that fall left did not surprise me and the only grief I felt was for his poor widow and children. Those sorts of things can be scaring to anyone, and had I been involved with him at all it probably would have left me with a bitter and hurt feeling. He loved his money and the thought of so much of it gone was just too much of a heartache for him to handle, never mind what his absence would do to his family. The newspapers covered the event as if it were an entertainment and I suppose in some way it made a very dramatic and compelling story. Nonetheless, I was horrified when they mentioned me, which happened more than once, and after they began to get deep into his life story, Titanic and all, I finally stopped reading the papers. Lies would only stand to upset me further.

Life continued on and my wish for daughters was eventually partially granted, as horrible as the situation ended up being. Nicholas's sister died in the spring of 1932 after a struggle with polio that mercifully spared her two daughters and husband. Afterward they made the trip from North Carolina and moved in with us for what ended up being a few years. Nicholas and Andrew had been friends before he married Nick's sister Aimee, so it was easy to welcome him and his two girls into our home. It felt very much like we had simply expanded our family. Andrew got a job at the local post office, so money wasn't an issue, as had been my worry in the beginning. Our little furniture business was thriving, but not so well that I could feed three extra months, three times a day. They stayed so long because Andrew, Nicholas, and I all felt the girls needed some sort of security and maternal influence, and thus they became my adopted daughters. Irish twins, and just about the same age as our boys, they seemed to fit right in. The eldest, Ellie, was strikingly beautiful, even at a young age, and loved anything to do with the arts. The younger, a petite, yet very healthy, girl named Natalie seemed hell bent on proving herself with her "brothers." It was she that I often found romping around outside in the mud with them, at which I just laughed. I would have loved to do something like that at her age, and realizing this, I let her run instead of restricting her activity. Ellie kept me company enough anyway, wanting to learn how to cook (a skill I never mastered) and talking with me hours on end about her favorite books and movies. She was obsessed with my own dismal Hollywood career, and once or twice I caught her up in the attic going through the boxes of customs I stored there, left over from various films. I cried the day they moved out, despite the fact that they moved only a mile away.

Life was ridiculously normal, and I loved and cherished every moment of it. Nicholas teased me relentlessly about my bad cooking and tendency to run around barefoot, even when it was below freezing outside. We were never rich, never even close to it. We lived very simply, more often than not eating things we grew in our own backyard. All of our furniture was made by Nicholas, and any art work we had was dutifully made by our sons at school. We went to church on Sundays, and had dinner with the neighbors every Thursday night. In the summers there was always a dance or farmers market to go to, and in the winters there was always warm fire and good company to come home to. In my fantasies, I could have never imagined such a blissful and rewarding "simple" life.

I never forgot Titanic, but it slowly faded to the back recesses of my mind and heart. Although it took a while for the screaming voices to fade, they never completely went away. And sometimes at night, even with Nicholas beside me, I would still wake up in a sheet of panic, cold as ice, confused as to where I was. However, soon enough the worries of bills and children and what not became my every day focus, not my painful past. I was able to, in a sense, put the past behind me.

Very rarely, I visit Jack in my dreams, and I always looked forward to those nights. It is a completely surreal experience that leaves me confused, yet happy and secure, the next day. He and I talk about everything and nothing, and sometimes I am taken back to the deck of that ship. He never tells me where we are, or what it is like on the other side. But it is nice. He grounds me.

Now I sat in Katherine's kitchen listing to the chimes of the loud clock, an hour had passed since I began to painfully reminisce about my slow recovery into sanity. I felt better about my experience than before I had essentially relived it. Beforehand, I had been sitting nervously, not wanting to jump into the past, afraid I would conjure up old feelings and fears. Thankfully, I was simply reminded of how far I had come since that afternoon I first arrived on Katherine's doorstep. It had been an experience that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And looking back I could see the answer was right in front of my face the entire time. But I know now that something happens when you lose something – or someone- you love. It's as if you can't believe it, as if your entire world no longer makes sense. You want someone to knock on your door and tell you it's all a big mistake. And holding onto these thoughts and pretending that it isn't real is one of the most dangerous things you can do to yourself. It's in accepting what has happened that you realize you're hurting yourself more than the truth will. And all of that was learned here, my innocence lost, all in Aunt Katherine's inviting home.

It seems unreal to me, even now, that she is dead. A week ago Nicholas and I had gotten a call from Elliot that she had died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack. It caught us both extremely off guard, yet _I_ probably should have known better. My father died of a heart attack, as did two of his siblings. Katherine, being a doctor and a little bit more in tune with her own health, probably warded off such a thing from occurring much earlier in her life. However, the unexpectedness of the event rattled me a little. She had been the only person who knew what had ever really happened, other than Jack himself, and the fact that she was gone left a hole inside of me. It was she who helped me through the anniversaries and testimonies over the years. She understood my ardent fight against naming our second son Jack, something Nicholas was thoroughly confused and upset about. (His grandfather had been nicknamed Jack, thus he wanted it for his son, and therefore it created turmoil. But I digress.) And it was she who had helped me through the most difficult part of my life, and to whom I still felt I owed a large debt.

Over the years I became a pretty good expert on grief. Perhaps that is why, despite my hurt, I could handle Katherine's passing with such grace. There was still so much to be done in regards to the will and the house and what not. But in some strange way, I felt slightly at peace with it. She had never married, never had children, but I knew she had been happy. She had her independence, good friends, and was secure in the knowledge that her choice to leave her stifling family has been the correct path.

I would never forget the time I spent in her home, sheltered from the outside world by my own stubborn arrogance. But as I stood from the table and glanced around, I was also filled with happy memories of family vacations and laughter, of Katherine and my own children. The fact that it hadn't always been perfect here only made the pleasant experiences all the more special.

"Rose?"

Alarmed, I spun around and quickly recognized Nicholas standing in the doorway. "You startled me," I said, laughing a little as my hand flew to my rapidly beating heart.

He grinned, "Sorry. Are you alright?"

I nodded reassuringly to him. _Just reliving my insanity, panic attacks, and third suicide attempt. Yep, I'm completely alright._ "Better than when I came down here," I answered, biting my lip in order to not divulge anymore information.

"Just couldn't sleep?"

Sighing, I shook my head and made my way towards him in the darkness. "There are just a lot of memories I have of this house."

Gently, he took me into his warm arms and rested his chin on my head, kissing my hair lightly. I loved it when he did that, it reminded me of when my father was alive and he would scoop me up into his arms and kiss my head. "You seem cold," he whispered.

"When am I not?" I answered back. It was true; I was constantly cold, even now. It was something I had never been able to get rid of.

I felt Nicholas chuckle and squeeze me tighter against his body. "C'mon, we have a long day tomorrow."

I let him lead me upstairs, checking on our boys, who were sleeping peacefully, before retiring to our own room- my old room, still painted peach. As Nicholas settled back into bed, I pretended to be searching through the drawers for another blanket. At the back of the top drawer I found what I was looking for, The Necklace that had haunted many dreams over the years. Surprisingly, Katherine hadn't ever gone through these drawers since I left. I had left it here rather than carry it around the country and risk loosing it. What a field day the media would have if someone suddenly found a multi-million dollar necklace that was supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean.

My hands were ice cold as I unwrapped it from its coverings and gently ran my index finger over the cold stones. Keeping it hidden from Nicholas's eyesight, I stared at for a long moment. I could feel Jack's love and support flow through my fingers from where I was touching the diamond. As long as I still had this necklace, I would never really be able to forgive and forget. Somehow, despite all I had been through and how far I had come, I knew it would take a long while before I reached that point.

Quietly, I rewrapped the diamond and stashed it away for another day. I would take it with me when we left Katherine's a few days later, and keep it hidden for years. But for right now I just wanted to go to sleep.

Climbing into bed, I leaded over and kissed Nicholas gently on the check and then settled down into the array of pillows that surrounded me. Tomorrow we had the funeral and reception, a long and emotional day no doubt. But I had confidence in myself. I had survived more than my share of pain and heartache. I was brighter, smarter, and more mature. And never again would I be as naive and stupid as to let the past control me the way it had. My believed aunt's death only stood to remind me how precious and fragile life is.

As I drifted into sleep, I could here Katherine's voice once again as what she told me the night of my breakdown came floating back to me: _You're going to be all right Rose, I promise. You will make it through this. _Her words gave me strength to fight, strength to accept her death, strength to accept myself.

And in the end, how true they were.

**_The End_**

_What a journey this story has been. I have spent two years of my life trying to put into perspective just what a difficult fight I felt Rose would have after Titanic ended and her life without Jack began. My own grief and mourning over the loss of many things, and my own experiences with anxiety certainly helped me, despite the horrific situations from which they arose. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

_This epilogue is meant to be a bit vague; the best stories we create in our minds without the help of a silly writer._

_It was my plan for this to be the end to my fan fiction days; I am heading off to college in a few weeks and somehow I suspect I will be far to busy (and have no privacy) to write. However, I do have ideas still floating around in my head, so you never know. _

_Thanks for every review and email; they inspire me. _

_Until next time!_


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